


Kill This Venom

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Anger Issues!Frank, Angst, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Horror, Humor, M/M, Mild Gore, Okay Not Really, Vampire!Ways, some comedy amongst the horror/romance elements? idk, vampire!Gerard, vampire!Mikey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The Ways,” The guy corrected, sounding a bit snobby this time as he enunciated the name. “People say they never come out of that house. If you see them out, you best believe they don't see you.” Frank tried to ignore the guy's tone turn gradually darker and lower, and tried to pass it off as a silly ghost story, but Frank couldn't help but be dragged in by it. He was intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So, first story! Yay. I think I'll update about once a week, since I've got a few chapters already typed up and it'll give me time. Don't kill me, I know vampire!Gerard is sooOOOOooo overrated, but can you blame me?

Frank glared at the moving van from his place on the front porch with distaste. His mom wouldn't _shut up_ about the new house, and gave every possible opportunity she had to rub it in Frank's face that this was their new home now. Home wasn't even an appropriate adjective for the place – it was, what, three hundred years old, and as far from home as it could be. The house reeked of old wood and also smelled distinctly like Frank's grandmother. Not to mention the murderous vibe it gave off. The whole neighbourhoodhad to be built in the damned 1800s, for God's sake.

“Frank, would you please _help_?!” His mother, Linda, called from inside, sounding distressed.

Frank scuffed his old, worn-out shoes against the wooden porch for a moment in delay. He didn't _want_ to help out, because he didn't want to accept that this was it for them. This was their new life. And he didn't want to accept the fact he had moved on from his past life at all, that his father was in prison now halfway across the damn _country_ , that he had to leave what little friends he had behind.

Friends. He scoffed out loud, making one of the rental guys passing in and out of the house give him a weird look. None of them had come to say goodbye to him,what kind of friends didn't do that? They weren't friends, they were just... People he hung out with. People he tolerated.

Whatever. Frank blew out a short breath and spun on his heel to head inside their new house. He didn't care anyway. Friends were always temporary. Then again, Frank's _life_ had been temporary up until now. Stepping through the threshold of the door wasn't hard, but deeming the huge house familiar was. The hall leading into the main room was long, wide and the ceiling had to be high enough to fit someone twice his height, despite his height not being a major comparative factor.

Everything was wooden, or brass, or metal, or stained glass. There were chandeliers hanging throughout the massive hallway, but they had probably been renovated to fit modern times. This house wasn't Frank's, or his mom's. It wasn't theirs. It couldn't be.

Once he found his mom digging through a box that held fragile tupperware in the kitchen, he stopped short at the threshold of the door. This wasn't a kitchen, it was a goddamn chef's paradise. Nevertheless, he stuck his hands in his pockets and tried his best to conceal his discomfort. Apparently, it didn't work.

“Frank Anthony Iero,” His mother chirped, sorting through some plates and bowls and setting them down carefully on the polished counter in front of her. “You _will_ like this place. This is good for us.”

It was good for _her_. “I know, mom. It's...” Frank had trouble trying to come up with a complimentary word for the place. “...big.” He could've snorted at his own answer.

“Have you got everything sorted out?” Linda asked him suddenly. Frank was taken aback by his mother's question; for a second, he wondered if she meant in general, because _no_ – he certainly had not gotten everything sorted out. He didn't want to be here, in this new town, in this new house, in these new surroundings. Even his mother was acting different, like they were even worthy of such a huge, majestic house. “ _Frank_?”

“What?” He blinked, clearing his throat.

Linda gave him a small warning glare, one that he had seen too many times before. “Your things. Have you got them sorted out? I can ask the rental men to bring them up to your room for you – which, you still have to pick out by the way. There's a lot of them, I don't know what to do with them all, Heaven knows we have enough _furniture_.”

“No,” Frank said quietly. He swayed in his position at the door slightly. “It's fine. I'll... I'll do it later.”

Linda raised her eyebrows at Frank. “You look sick, honey. Is everything alright?”

Frank looked at his mother and saw someone he didn't know. Why? Why was she acting like she cared all of a sudden, now that it was just him and her? Was it because Frank was the only one she had to care about anymore? Was it the house? His mother wasn't like this, wasn't caring, didn't call him 'honey'. His mother chastised him frequently, sent him glares for ripping his jeans up, complained to him whenever he kicked at his shoes too much and needed new ones.

“ _Frank_.” There it was, the exasperated tone, the one that told him she was having enough of his crap for the day. “Would you answer me?!”

Frank shook his head and stepped back. “I'm going to step outside for a bit.”

“Frank Iero, you will not--”

He left the room before she could finish. Nothing felt right in this place, even his own mother felt different to him. The rental guy from before gave him a raised brow when he passed him again on the porch, but took a drag from his cigarette anyway. Frank wasn't oblivious to it.

“Hey, could I have one?”

The rental guy almost choked on the smoke entering his lungs, but it was recovered with a throaty, scratchy laugh. “Sorry, kid?

“A cigarette,” Frank furrowed his brows. “Can I have one?”

“How old are you, kid?” The rental guy leant back against the wall of the porch, crossing one arm across his chest in contentment, knowing Frank wasn't anywhere possibly near the legal age.

“Sixteen.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I don't serve minors.”

Frank blew out a sigh, for the second time, and sat down on the front steps in defeat. “I have a fake I.D somewhere in those boxes.” He gestured towards the moving van.

“You one of them kids, eh?” The rental guy asked.

“I'm not a kid,” Frank replied without haste. He wasn't even in the mood for sounding disgruntled. He picked at the frayed edges around the holes in his shitty jeans, and thought about how shitty his life had gotten. “Not one of _them_ kids.”

“Not around here, you don't wanna be.” The rental guy answered with seethe. “This place is bad, I'll tell you that, kid. I'm surprised you an' your ma even wanted to move here.”

“Wasn't my choice,” Frank mumbled back automatically. He scratched at his raven-haired head and then almost immediately snapped it to meet the rental guy's figure. “What do you mean, the place is bad?”

The rental guy shrugged. “The houses are weird. The people are weirder.”

What the fuck was that supposed to give him? Frank almost groaned in annoyance. Sure, the houses were weird; it had completely changed his mother for the time being, though Frank was sure that was because she wanted to forget everything in their past. She wanted a clean slate, except Frank didn't want that. Frank wanted all the rough bumps and sharp edges and disjointed figures of his past intact, otherwise he wouldn't _be_ Frank. His mother's ignorance pissed him off.

“The neighbours are gonna be even weirder, I'm tellin' you now, kid.”

Frank blinked and followed the rental guy's hand, which was gesturing to the looming house to the left of them. It looked like a typical monster house out of a horror movie, with an unkempt lawn out the front and an uneven, black picket fence. “The neighbours?”

“The Ways,” The guy corrected, sounding a bit snobby this time as he enunciated the name. “People say they never come out of that house. If you see them out, you best believe they don't see you.” Frank tried to ignore the guy's tone turn gradually darker and lower, and tried to pass it off as a silly ghost story, but Frank couldn't help but be dragged in by it. He was intrigued.

“Why... Why are they weird?” Frank asked quietly, glancing towards the house that seemed to keep more shadow than the rest in the street.

The rental guy looked at him. The fucking rental guy was telling him a ghost story. “Weird things happen in that house. They're weird people, son.”

“I _know_ that, you've told me that already,” Frank said in exasperation. “But _why_?”

“They're just weird.” The rental guy took one last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and stamped it out with his boot. “You need me to help you with your stuff?”

Frank still couldn't get his mind wrapped around the curiosity that led to the Way house, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

\---

 

On the second day, Frank still hadn't gotten used to the house. How could he, in any possible way? It was creepy, and had lots of old groans and questionable sounds for him in store. Boxes were still lying in hallways half unpacked, and Frank's room still didn't hold as many band posters yet as he would have had. His previous uncertainty about the house had also been confirmed by the fucking rental guy (he still couldn't understand it).

With a ham and cheese sandwich in tow, and a comfortable raised eyebrow from his mother at his ripped and holed jeans, Frank left the house in search of a better location that could hold comfort. Maybe he'd find somewhere in this new town he wouldn't hate, after all. A park, maybe. Then again, he hadn't seen many children out and about.

The weather here was also too cold, Frank noted as he crossed his arms to keep himself warm as he trudged on in his dirty shoes. The clouds concealed the Sun and made the day seem gloomy and something out of a fucking Twilight movie. Frank wanted to scream at the founders of this town, but he didn't exactly know how that would work in association to the weather.

When the street started to get more isolated, and the grass seemed to grow more wild and untamed, Frank's thoughts turned back to school. He wasn't particularly excited about starting it in five weeks, because fuck school, right? He had never liked it anyway, nor the teachers, or the braindead students. And as stated, fuck the people who he tolerated, too, because they hadn't been _friends_ , either. There had been one person he'd tolerated more than the others though – Bob. But he left him behind just like every fucking thing else.

For once, Frank wasn't the one being abandoned. It was him abandoning everything he never wanted to abandon. And in a town like this, who was to say school and friends would be any easier than back there? It wouldn't. At least Frank had the Summer holidays to get his shit together about the new place, and fucking... Do things. Live, for once, instead of blasting Black Flag in his cramped old room.

When he had stepped onto a clearing that came to the end of the long, winding street, and the grass came up to about his calves, Frank noticed a building in the distance, surrounded by wild trees and covered in untamed vines and weeds. There was a brick pathway too, leading up to it, concealed by the long grass beneath his feet. It was an abandoned building, and by the looks of it, a church, and nothing could be better than it for Frank.

As he approached it he felt a sense of eeriness around him, but he blew it off as just the town. Everything was eerie. Seeing the cross held above the building made Frank remember being in a catholic school once, then abandoning that pretense altogether once he'd gone to public school and discovered a wild, trouble-making side of himself that believed – no, that knew there was no God.

Getting inside the building was easier than he had thought it'd be, considering the doors had been removed seemingly ages ago and all he had to do was avoid the intertwining vines that littered the floor and walls of the church. The inside of it was dark, too, the only source of light filtering in through the stained glass windows and skylight. The pews were alternating between half broken off, half crumbling and half okay, though Frank could only deem the second to last one clean and safe enough to sit on. The place felt... undisturbed. Untouched for years, maybe.

Or maybe, it was just fucking haunted or something, which by now Frank wouldn't be surprised by.

As soon as Frank touched the cool, kind-of rotting wood of the pew, he closed his eyes. He didn't pray, or think, he just sat and waited. For what, he didn't know – maybe it was for time to pass, or to just be at one with his surroundings for once. Maybe he was waiting for it to connect and for him to stop feeling so out of place and defensive about it. Maybe he was wishing himself back home, with his asshole of a father and his angry mother that always fought.

No. He wouldn't wish himself back there. It would be horrible of him to do that. Not after his father had practically fucking beat him up. Not after he had scared his mother half to death. Not after what his deadbeat dad had did – but maybe... Maybe things before that. When things were okay.

Frank was pulled from his thoughts and, primarily proceeded to piss himself when a voice came from the pew across from him.

“What're you praying for?”

Frank opened his eyes and turned to stare at the culprit, voice almost catching in his throat when he did so. “That's pretty fucking rude, dude.”

The black haired boy sitting across from him smiled a creepy, unsettling smile, one that made Frank's stomach flip uncomfortably. “I asked a question.”

Frank refused to look the incredibly pale boy in the eye. The kid looked like something from out of The fucking Ring. “I wasn't _praying_ , asshole. I don't...” He didn't finish his sentence. He was in a church – or, well, what was left of one.

The boy looked him up and down. It wasn't a quick, glancing motion, either – it was one, huge, extracted sweep from bottom to top. Finally, the guy met Frank's eyes, and his own twinkled. “You've got secrets.”

Frank shuddered visibly at the motion and words, and the guy didn't miss it one bit, because he gave a toothy smile at it. Frank bit his tongue at the string of curse words threatening to come out in a church. “Yeah, sure.”

“I've got secrets too, don't worry.”

The raven-haired boy, from his cross-legged position on the pew across from Frank's, stood up. Frank's mind and body immediately went into overdrive and panic. This was _not_ the place he was going to die. Not in a fucking church. How ironic would that be?

The guy swiped the dirt off of his black jeans, which, Frank totally did _not_ notice were tight. “I'm Gerard.”

“Nice to know,” Frank replied like an asshole. He wasn't about to forgive the kid for just interrupting his moment alone like that, in the middle of what he thought was an abandoned cathedral, and honestly, where the fuck had he come from anyway?

Gerard just smiled at Frank's assholery, though, something that kind of made Frank feel bad. “How old are you?”

Frank raised an eyebrow at Gerard unusually. “What?” He wasn't about to let this kid perform voodoo on him as soon as he left or anything, if that was even the way it worked.

“I'm sixteen,” Gerard said. “So are you, right?”

“How do you know that?” Frank didn't even have time for assholery at that point, he was just fucking weirded out.

Gerard stepped forward more, which made Frank stand up from his pew and cross his own arms in front of him. From this angle, the light filtered in through the stained glass windows and really showed the dark circles around Gerard's eyes, but it also showed the pretty hazel colour of them twinkling. “I know things.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you do. Look, um...” Frank didn't know whether he should excuse himself, or whether he should've asked the guy to leave, because he honestly wasn't about to give up this place as soon as he had gotten here.

Gerard still had that same, psychotic smile on, and was advancing on Frank. Who was, in reply, promptly freaking the fuck out. “Do you like Misfits?”

Fucking hell. Fucking _fuck_ , man. And just like that, the tension stopped. Gerard's smile seemed less menacing. Frank's heart seemed less like it was going to jump out of his chest, through a window, and go window shopping for a new owner. Frank's breathing slowed down. Frank relaxed. “Y-Yeah, dude. I love Misfits.”

“Cool,” Gerard grinned like a normal teenager discussing normal things. “I have them on vinyl.”

“No way, you have a record player?” Frank asked. He was torn between trying to calm down from his freak out and being genuinely interested.

“Yeah. It used to be my grandfather's.” Gerard said. Suddenly, his brows furrowed and his lips came down at the corners. “I have to... I have to go now. You should probably go, too, Frank, your mom is calling for you.”

“What--” And just like that, Gerard up and left through the open doors of the church, and within five seconds so was Frank, following Gerard's very lead. But... As soon as he had staggered out over the threshold of the church, stumbling over stray weeds and vines, brushing small branches out of the way, Gerard was nowhere to be found. There was only one way back to the main road, and that was straight forward... He could've sworn he'd seen Gerard go that way... Maybe he'd taken a shortcut.

Frank tried his best to brush it off, but when he began on his way through the long weeds back to the street, he remembered something. Gerard had known Frank's name.

“Fuck.”

And just like that, Frank had gone back to hating the new town.

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some scenes that contain slight dubious consent. Nothing too serious, I assure you. :)

“Frank, where the hell have you been? It's almost two in the afternoon!” His mother had shrieked at him when he stepped through the front door.

 

Frank was taken aback by the news, so much so that he checked a grandfather clock nearby to see if his mother was right. She was. Frank had somehow wasted six hours in the church... Yet he had only been in there for twenty minutes, at the least, he swore to himself. He had been talking to that boy Gerard, who had somehow known his name...

 

“Frank? Answer me!” His mother groaned and rubbed at her temples soothingly, turning to face the other direction. She took a few breaths and then turned back to Frank's wide eyes. “Look, honey... I know it's been hard for you.” She stepped forward and brought Frank into an open hug, rubbing his back comfortingly. “It's been hard for me, too, baby, but... This is the best I can do for us. You have to try and be happy about it... What'd you do today, sweetie?”

 

Frank stepped back from his mom's embrace and looked down at the floor. He didn't really fucking _know_ what he'd done today. To be honest, he was quite convinced that Gerard was some kind of witch and had cast a time spell on his day, on that short time in the church. “Just... explored. I met someone from around here.”

 

“Oh, really? What's their name? Maybe we can invite them over for dinner sometime,” His mother chirped, clasping her hands together.

 

Frank groaned, “Mom.” and sighed. “They're... He's... Well, I don't really know. He's kind of weird.”

 

“He?” His mother led him into the living room, which held a massive fireplace and made their couches look small compared to the room's walls and ceiling. “What's his name?”  
  


“G-Gerard?” Frank posed it as a question, kind of inquisitive as to why his mother was suddenly so interested in who he made friends with. Maybe she was trying to step in and make sure he wasn't meddling with the wrong people again.

 

His mother made a sound of approval and surprise mixed into one. She raised her eyebrows, and Frank for once wasn't sure what that meant. “Gerard? As in Gerard Way, from next door? His parents came over this morning to introduce themselves after you left, such nice people.”  
  


Frank's breath caught in his throat, and he almost swallowed his own tongue at his mother's words. His heart rate picked up and he could swear he was on the verge of breaking out into shuddering breaths. There was no way. There was no possible way the creepy grudge kid from the cathedral lived next door to Frank. There was no fucking way he was apart of the family the rental guy was talking about in the haunting tone. Frank refused to believe it.

 

His mother probably saw his wide eyes and frozen body. “Frankie? They were asking about you, as well, wondering if you would like to come over for dinner sometime.”

 

Frank tried to suck in small breaths to keep himself breathing at a normal level. “Y-Yeah, mom. That's cool.” It was so not fucking cool. Frank was on the verge of an inner freak-out, he had to keep himself in check. He had to just... He had to just breathe. “I'll... I'll think about it.”

 

His mother smiled and ruffled Frank's hair messily. “I'm so proud of you, honey. You know that, right? You're doing so great already.” And with that, his mother left the room, leaving Frank in the middle of a fucking panic attack.

 

He still couldn't believe it. How does one even process information like that? This town was definitely, definitely,  _definitely_ not for him.  
  


–--  
  


Frank opened his eyes to an overgrown field. The sky was cloudy, gloomy and cast a shadow over his surroundings, leaving everything with a blueish tint. He swore he could see the gloomy silhouette of the chapel in the distance, but every time he would look directly at it, it would shimmer or disappear like a mirage. Frank could hear crows cawing and looked up to see them circling him above, but as soon as he blinked they seemed to have transferred to the ground. One stood at his feet, peeking up at him through the long weeds and tilting it's head curiously. Then, the air changed.  
  


A gust of wind blew the long blades of grass South and the birds all flocked from the grass and trees in a nervous flurry, cawing and squeaking as they tried to get as far away from land as they could. Frank shifted nervously, feeling glued to the spot. Whenever he would get the urge to step forward, it was like he couldn't move his legs.

A flash of white in his peripheral caught his attention. He snapped his head to the direction of it, but nothing seemed to be there. The air was as quiet as the long-gone birds were. Then, there it was again – a flock of white in the corner of his eye, moving around him.  
  


“Who's there?!” He tried to yell out, but his voice was caught in his throat and it only came out as a squeak. Another flash, like something running. The long grass rippled as the force of something in it moved.

 

Screams suddenly tore through the sky, erupting through the Earth below him and surrounding him, bursting his eardrums. He slapped his hands against his ears and screamed himself, but only in agonising pain. He wanted the screaming to stop. It split through his ears and chest like razorblades. Beyond the screams, he noticed a small voice whispering to him. More white rippled amongst the grass, flitting against his peripheral.  
  


“Wake up...” the voices said, whispering and murmuring amongst themselves like a small crowd, “Wake up, Frankie...”

 

Then it came running at him from the church in the distance at an alarming speed, something white and bony and skeletal, barely resembling a human, canines bared at him and a staggering scream being torn from it's throat as it lunged itself at him.  
  


“ _WAKE UP_!”

 

Frank sat up in his bed sweating and gasping for air in his cold room. Once he checked the corners of the room from where he was positioned and noted that nothing lurked in them, he finally allowed himself to begin settling down. What the hell was that? Some kind of nightmare? Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nightmare... Maybe when he was still living with his dad. Even then, they were nothing as vivid and real as this one was... This one had shook Frank to his core, scared him half to fucking death.

 

He needed a drink of water.

 

He threw the hot covers of his bed to the side in a hurry, jumping halfway across the floor of his room from his bed to get to the door quicker. He wasn't scared. He would not admit he was scared. Even as he flicked on every light switch he could as he made his way downstairs to the main floor and into the huge kitchen, he would still not admit it to himself.

Frank was just having natural reactions to alarming natures.

He got to the fridge, threw open the door, and chugged a litre's worth of water from the largest bottle he could find. Even as he hydrated himself and stood for a moment in the fridge's coolness, he still couldn't process what he had just dreamt of. What the hell was that? He had been in the field in front of the church, the one leading up to it. But it had felt so big in the dream, and there had been no houses or streets around... Just emptiness. Just him. Alone.  
  


Frank shuddered and closed the fridge door, turning around in hopes to get back to bed nightmare-free.  
  


“Hey, Frankie.”  
  


Frank yelped loudly and jumped a fucking foot in there, adding an impressive number to his short height. “What the fuck?!”

Sitting on the countertop, swaying his legs and hitting them back against the wood of the cupboard doors, was Gerard Way. Smiling brightly. Since the only light in the kitchen had been the fridge's automatic one, the only light illuminating them both was the one filtering in from the large hallway outside.

 

“What the fuck, Gerard?!” Frank repeated, this time slightly more hushed as to not wake his mother. “What are you doing in my house?!”

 

Gerard gave a playful pout and a harsh kick to the cupboard door below him. “I thought you'd wanna play.”

 

“It's...” Frank glanced at the illuminated numbers on the microwave. “It's three in the morning, Gerard! What the fuck are you doing in my house, dude?”

 

Gerard tilted his head curiously, like he really was some fucking kid from the Grudge. His paleness was only even more accentuated by the lack of light in the kitchen. Frank had to squint his eyes to even see Gerard, but somehow Gerard's eyes seem light as ever. “I woke you up. I thought you'd be happy about it, at least.”

 

“What- What the...” Frank couldn't even process what was going on right now. A part of him believed he had to be still dreaming, that maybe he hadn't even woke up yet – like he was in some kind of Inception bullshit. Another part of him believed that he was just hallucinating Gerard after the stress he'd been through that day, it was three in the morning after all.  
  


“Can we play?” Gerard suddenly asked, kicking himself off the counter. Frank couldn't help but notice with a twinge of fear that it was three in the morning, he was alone in a dark kitchen and a large as fuck house with a creepy Grudge boy a whole foot taller than him, and his mother would barely hear his screams. The house was that big. 

 

He also couldn't help but notice with an even bigger twinge of fear that Gerard was closing in on him into a corner where a wall and a counter intersected. Frank was entirely convinced that Gerard was going to kill him, and there was no doubt about it.  
  


“N-No,” Frank stuttered out, trying to keep his voice strong. “I don't want to. Leave me alone.”  
  


“But Frankie...” Frank didn't want to know how Gerard knew his nickname. “I want to play. With you, especially.”  
  


“Stop,” Frank cried out weakly when Gerard continued to corner him into the counter. “Stop it.”  
  


Frank was  _not_ going to piss himself.

He could see Gerard's twisted smile even in the darkness. “You're scared, aren't you, Frankie?” He sounded sick, like he was getting off on it or something.

 

Frank swallowed back the rising bile in his throat, trying to stop the quick heaving of his chest. “N-No,” He denied. “I'm not.”  
  


Gerard's eyes seemed to twinkle in the dark threateningly. “Tell me the truth, Frankie.”  
  


“I'm not scared!” Frank outburst, surprising even himself by placing his hands on Gerard's cold chest to stop him from coming any closer. By now Gerard was face-to-face with him. Frank tried not to note that his hands were shaking and couldn't have stopped Gerard anyway.

 

Gerard tutted. “Admit it.” His voice was suddenly less playful, now hard and strong and... menacing.

 

Frank looked at Gerard's eyes and his knees buckled, but he kept his composure and held onto the counter beside him. “I-I'm scared.” He gave in.

 

Gerard's lips quirked up into a small smile. “Good,” He praised, and he finally closed the distance between him and Frank.

 

At first, when Frank cranked open one eye, he thought Gerard had been going in for the kill. He expected Gerard's teeth on his throat or some horror movie shit, ripping out his jugular and leaving a bloody mess for his mom and the cops to find. But when he felt the abnormal pressure on his lips, he realised his mistake. Gerard was kissing him. Gerard was moving his lips against Frank's unresponsive ones, and Frank was in too much cold shock to even process it. He felt like his emotions had been fucked with for an eternity and would never be the same again. He was in too much shock, then he was so scared his heart was ready to leave him again, and now... Now he was back to shock.

 

When Gerard pulled back, Frank could still feel the buzz of feeling on his own lips. “Let's play,” Gerard said, grabbing Frank by the hips and setting him on the counter, wrapping Frank's legs around his waist.  
  


Gerard pressed his lips back to Frank's again, pulling his chin in with his hand, but Frank tried his hardest to pull away. “N-No,” Frank stammered out. “Stop it.”

 

“Why?” Gerard asked, tilting his head again. “You like it, Frankie. I can tell.” 

 

“S-Stop calling me that. And... And stop this!” Frank unwound his legs from Gerard's waist and jumped down from the counter, trying to escape from Gerard's grasp. 

 

Within a moment Gerard had him up against the opposite counter, chest pressed firmly against his back as he held Frank over it. “You're not leaving.” Gerard's voice was dark now.  
  


“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Frank struggled out of Gerard's grasp, but no matter how hard he tried it was too strong for him to manage. “Let the fuck go of me, asshole!”

 

Gerard planted a kiss at Frank's exposed shoulder, and began trailing them up more until he was near the base of his neck. And although it felt nice, somewhat, Frank couldn't let his body betray him like that. “I just want a taste...”

 

“You had your fucking taste,” Frank hissed through gritted teeth. “When you kissed me without my permission? Yeah.”  
  


Gerard paused with his lips still pressed to Frank's neck. “Shall I ask this time, then?” His lips moved against Frank's neck and it felt good, but Frank still wouldn't budge.

 

“The answer is n--” 

 

Without warning, Gerard sunk his teeth down onto Frank's neck ruthlessly. Frank screamed aloud in shock, eyes wide and brimming with tears, but Gerard only wrapped a pale hand around his mouth and muffled the cries.

 

Frank could feel it. He could feel the searing pain split throughout the muscles in his shoulder and neck, paralyze him for the time being until it only became a dull thum. He could feel Gerard's lips moving against his neck, and he wanted nothing more than to throw the guy off and beat the everliving shit out of him. But...

 

It wasn't that he couldn't. It was that, suddenly, he didn't want to. Whatever Gerard was doing to him, it felt addicting, it felt  good, it felt euphoric. When Gerard shifted and moved his hips forward slightly, Frank let out a moan against the hand on his mouth. 

 

And when Gerard let up, when Frank could feel the air stinging harshly at the open wound on his neck, it hurt. It fucking hurt, and Frank cried out and fell forward onto the counter, clutching at it in hopes that the pain would just stop somehow. Frank could feel tears streaming down his face, rolling down his chin and falling onto the countertop beneath him.  
  


At first, he thought he was about to be murdered, then he thought he would be raped, and now...

 

He wasn't so sure.

 

“What did you just do to me?” He cried out, sobbing into the marble counter. 

 

He could feel Gerard shifting around him, then he was lifting Frank up and pulling him into his arms to kiss and lick at the open wound. “I had a taste,” was Gerard's light answer.

  
Frank didn't understand. Frank didn't want to understand. He was bitter, and everything was fucked up, and he was certain this had to be a hallucination or dream if it weren't for the searing pain in his shoulder. “And?” He snapped out between sobs. 

His answer came lower this time.  “ And I'm addicted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: There is a reason for Gerard's drastic change in character, you'll see the reason behind it in laaater chapters! This was meant to be posted later on in the week but I got impatient, pff.  
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	3. Three

“Frank? God, Frank, if you don't get off that floor right this second... Frank, wake up. Get off the floor.”'

 

Frank woke up with an excruciating bruise in the place his shoulder and neck intersected, and a searing headache. The cold tiles of the kitchen floor pressed against his cheek and bare skin, leaving him shuddering as he forced himself up onto his feet, reaching for the counter as a form of support. As soon as his hand touched the cool marble a flash of white blinded him for a split second. Something pricked at the back of his mind, like a memory he couldn't quite grasp, but then it was gone just as quickly.

  
Was he hungover? Despite the headache, it didn't seem like he was. Plus, there was the huge pain in his shoulder and he knew he hadn't drunk the night before. Frank didn't even _drink_. Then why the hell had he woken up on the kitchen floor? It was ridiculous. Frank's head spun with a painful sensation. He moved for the fridge, planning on a sip of water to quench his thirst, and as his fingertips touched the steel of it another white flash blinded him.

 

“Fuck,” Frank groaned out loud, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Maybe he was hungover. Once he could see clearly again, and the white around the edges of his eyes had faded away, he could vaguely recall waking up at an early hour of the morning to grab a drink in this exact same spot. Only he had felt... terrified.

 

“ _Language_ , Frank,” His mother's presence made itself known again in the form of a whiny chastise. “Would you like to explain why I found you passed out in the kitchen at...” Linda checked the tiny watch on her wrist. “Seven in the morning?”

 

Well, Frank thought. It wasn't completely unusual. “I must have sleepwalked.” Frank shrugged groggily.

 

“Sleepwalked,” Frank's mom snorted. “You haven't done that since you were _five_ , Frankie.”

 

“What did you say the time was again?” Frank ignored her statement, forgetting his desire for water and slipping past her to hopefully get some better rest in his own bed.

 

Linda stopped him by putting a hand upon her hip and raising an infamous Linda Iero eyebrow at him. “Seven.”

 

Frank ran a hand through his hair, messing it up sleepily. “Ma, I'm still tired.”

 

“Don't you dare go back upstairs, young man. You're too young to be sleeping in.” Linda emphasised her point by grabbing a coffee mug out of a nearby cupboard and setting it down firmly on the counter. “Go out and do something today.”

 

“Like what?” Frank rubbed at his face like it would get the point across he was tired as hell.

 

His mother shrugged one shoulder. “Coffee?”

 

“No thanks,” Frank sighed and made another longing look down the hallway which illuminated the bottom of the stairs, but when his mother sent him another warning glare, he gave up. “I might just... go out.”

 

And besides, he needed to know why the hell he had woken up on the kitchen floor in the first place.

 

“Be back before eleven, okay, sweetheart? I'm making lunch.”

 

Frank called back a half-hearted “Yeah, mom!” before he ran upstairs to get changed into appropriate day wear.

 

–

 

He didn't know why he had even come back in the first place, because his first experience here was nowhere near that pleasant, but Frank found himself staring back at the entrance of the eroding church nervously. Walking through the overgrown field to get there had unveiled and reminded him of his bizarre terror-inducing dream that had woken him up last night, but anything beyond that seemed to be a blank space. He could vaguely remember taking a drink of water, and then waking up on the floor to his slightly irritated mom.

 

There was nothing in between that. Maybe he really had passed out. Maybe he was just stressed out from the move.

 

Despite it all, Frank decided to walk through the threshold of the church anyway; after all, it had been an escape the first time. He had truly felt peaceful before he was interrupted. It was a quiet getaway that had once been occupied by human civilisation, but since then been overrun by nature and wild. Wild was untamed. That was the best thing about it.

 

Frank would've liked to think that if he had smoked regularly, he would like this to be the place he did it. Not that Frank was eagerly awaiting the legalisation to be able to buy cigarettes himself and support the addiction, because he wasn't. He just felt like the peace, the tranquillity, the quiet, would all be a place to do it.

 

He stepped in to take the same seat as last time - second to last, the one that seemed cleaner than the rest - only to find a black-haired, pale-skinned asshole in his place. Frank could've snorted if it wouldn't have sounded immature and obnoxious in comparison to the peace. Although the birds didn't chirp over here, the nature still lived on in the seven A.M quiet.

 

So Frank took a seat from the pew across from it, just like the raven-haired boy had done to him last time. Gerard didn't seem to notice, or just didn't seem to care, as he didn't open his already closed eyes or turn his head in Frank's direction.

 

Frank was almost content with the silence. If they both had to be here, this was how it was supposed to be. Frank could think like this, get all his thoughts sorted out, if they were both this quiet. Just in their own worlds. Frank didn't close his eyes, though. He didn't feel the need to sort through the crazy, intertwined thoughts in his head. He didn't feel any rush to understand what the hell had happened to him last night, or this morning. There was a crazy pull at the back of his mind, tugging him closer to Gerard's form, begging for him to just... Talk.

 

He swallowed hard before opening his mouth. “What're you praying for?” Frank asked aloud. He twisted his fingers together repetitively, trying to ignore the crazy tug in his mind that seemed to want Frank to be near Gerard – not in a romantic way, Frank tried to reason, but just... Be closer. As if the two metres between them wasn't enough.

 

Gerard's eyes didn't snap open, and he didn't jump like Frank had, but the corners of his lips tugged up slightly. “That's pretty rude.”

 

“Is it?” Frank asked. He kept his gaze ahead, staring at the alter at the front of the building, amongst all the pews. There was a sculpture of Jesus hanging from the cross at the very front, of his crucifixion – an agonised expression on his face. Frank couldn't help but wonder how very dark it was to have something like that in a place meant for hope. 

 

He could hear Gerard snigger from across from him. “I don't know. I don't pray. What's the point?”

 

“I think it's meant to be self-assuring.” Frank suggested, picking at the holes in his jeans.

 

“We need to be self-assured that we're all monsters?” Gerard asked. “Things don't work that way.”

 

Frank shrugged to himself, looking back at the statue of Jesus. Gerard was right, in a way. “Then why are you here?”

 

He felt Gerard's stare prickle on his neck, so Frank turned his head to find Gerard inspecting him with his hazel eyes. “Why are you?”

 

Frank looked down, averting his gaze in hopes Gerard would stop staring. “I just need to think.”

 

“Do you feel different?” Gerard blurted out. 

 

Frank gave him a questioning look, but nodded. “I can't remember something.”

 

Gerard didn't answer for a long moment. Long enough, so that Frank had enough time for his thoughts to stray back to figuring out what lay within the blank space in his memories. Eventually, Gerard murmured something that Frank didn't quite catch. “What?”

 

“It does that.” Gerard repeated louder. “The... venom.”

 

Frank leant back against his own crumbling pew and let out a short bark of laughter. “What venom?”

 

Gerard stayed quiet again, leaning back, too. “...You should go.”

 

This time, it wasn't Gerard to leave. And this time, Frank didn't want him leaving. It was all the other way around.

 

“What? I'm not leaving.” Frank huffed in defiance. He crossed one ankle over his thigh to get comfortable in his seat. “I just got here. I don't want to leave.”

 

“Because you can't leave,” Gerard commented dryly. He seemed to have taken a sour demeanor on, something Frank couldn't understand the reason behind. Had he said something wrong? 

 

Frank shook his head in disbelief and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can. I just don't want to.”

 

“No,” Gerard continued to defy. “You can try to walk out, but every time you're not around you'll feel something pulling you back. Something in the back of your head, crawling and scratching until it's put at ease. I bet you feel it right now.” Gerard nodded his head towards Frank, refusing to meet his eyes. “It's unavoidable.”

 

Frank wouldn't admit that Gerard was right, but it wasn't as if he was wrong, either. He didn't know how Gerard knew it. He could feel the irritating tug in his head trying to get him closer to Gerard, but he wanted to ignore it. He _wanted_ to ignore it. He just... couldn't. It was becoming insatiable.

 

It was Frank's turn to stay silent for a few beats, until he snorted out loud this time and looked up at the crumbling ceiling. “Nope,” He said. “I don't feel it.”

 

Much like his own mother's famous raised eyebrow, he could feel Gerard's stare on his face, burning into his skin. Frank could almost... feel Gerard's presence hesitating on something, even though he wasn't looking at him. “...Can I...?” Gerard muttered.

 

“Can you what?” Frank asked mindlessly. He didn't feel as scared of Gerard, or creeped out, as the first day, but he supposed that was because Gerard was actually acting normal now. Maybe he was just trying to intimidate him on that first encounter. It wasn't like Frank was comfortable enough to get within a metre of Gerard without his express permission, but he was comfortable enough to be an asshole about things.

 

Gerard was still staring. Frank could feel it. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Frank was taken aback by the outlandish request. It was completely unusual for something like that to be asked by the creepy guy who Frank had literally seen disappear around a corner the previous day, and who he had only known for two. For one, he hadn't even known Gerard was... well, into guys like that, and for two – why would he want to kiss Frank in this creepy ass abandoned church, at seven in the morning?

 

“Wha- Why?” Frank asked nervously. The tug in his head was becoming more of an irritating pull as soon as Gerard had asked the question. Frank tried to ignore it by playing with his jittery fingers. 

 

Gerard hesitated for a second. “I don't know. I just want to... but without the pain.”

 

It sounded like Gerard was even surprised by his own words, like it was something he had never even thought of before this. Naturally, Frank was completely confused as to what the hell he meant. “Pain?”

 

“It'll come back to you in a few days. Give it time.” Gerard stated.

 

“Does... Does this have to do with my memory?” Frank asked quietly. He seemed to be inching closer to the end of his pew, trying to get closer to Gerard. In his mind he had passed it off as simply wanting to converse more with him, but the tug that Gerard had explained implied otherwise. Frank refused to believe he had nothing more than his own will to decide things for himself. 

 

Gerard nodded. “I can't tell you. I can't interfere, but... I should've waited. I should've fed that night.” It sounded more like Gerard was beginning to talk to himself, chastise himself. Frank still felt as confused as he was the moment he woke up on the kitchen floor.

 

“Why can't you tell me?” Frank asked. “What's the big secret? I just want to know what the hell _this_ is!” Frank pulled his shirt collar to the side roughly, exposing the bruised and broken skin that lay on his neck. There were still patches of dry blood dotted around it in streaks. 

 

Gerard sucked in a breath at the sight and looked away quickly. “Stop.”

 

“Stop? You know what it's from, don't you, Gerard?” Frank let his collar fall back into place, hiding the wound from open sight. Frank pulled his jacket over his shoulders primitively so he wouldn't be so exposed to the chilly air. “Why can't you tell me?!” He asked again, pressing forward. 

 

“Because you wouldn't understand!” Gerard exploded in a hushed, desperate outburst. “You wouldn't _get it_ yet, Frankie, that's why! You need to... You're not _ready_ yet. Once the addiction starts it doesn't stop!”

 

Frank narrowed his eyes down at Gerard, skipping over the space in between the two rows of pews so he could sit down next to him. “What the fuck does this all mean?!” He exclaimed.

 

“I don't know, Frank,” Gerard sighed in exasperation. “Just stop asking questions. It'll all come to you.”

 

Frank furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Gerard next to him. He smelled distinctly of oak and honey, and it was the weirdest thing Frank had ever smelled on somebody before, yet it somehow worked with him. His eyes caught Gerard's fingers playing with the holes in his own tight, black jeans, and they stayed there while he thought. “What is with this town?”

 

Gerard watched Frank watch him. “I don't know.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh I just want to post the next chapter already! I know things are a little (a lot) confusing at the moment, but hang in there. :P


	4. Four

Two days had passed since Frank's conversation with Gerard in the church. Two days had passed, and while Gerard had continuously insisted Frank would remember whatever the fuck he was supposed to be remembering, Frank's mind still came to a blank. Maybe he had stabbed his neck in his sleep or something. Maybe. He occupied the blank space in his mind over and over again until he began to believe it.

 

During the two days of seemingly normal, everyday duties of unpacking boxes and sleeping in as far as _eight-thirty_ when his mom forgot to get him up (but not after going on a rant to him about a healthy night's sleep and how an article she read about said teenagers shouldn't sleep in past noon because it stumps brain development, not that Frank ever listened because come _on_ , Mom, really?) Frank seemed to get in a lot of stress-free relaxation. 

 

It was until Frank walked downstairs into the large kitchen area one morning that he began to really question how much relaxation would be scheduled in to today. The fucking rental guy - the fucking rental guy, who had not only creeped him out to the brink of sleepless nights over this entire neighbourhood, told him a fuckin' ghost story, and warned him to steer clear of the one black-haired pale guy that seemed to show up everywhere he went – was sitting in his very kitchen, sipping from a mug of coffee that his mom seemed to have brewed for him.

 

“Frank, honey!” His mother cooed as soon as his ruffled, deranged appearance came into view. The rental guy, who Frank still hadn't asked for his name – because really, who the fuck invites the guy who drove your shit to and from houses to morning coffee? - winced at Frank's disarrayed appearance. Yeah, Frank looked like shit, give him a break, he'd just woken up. 

 

Linda Iero, the witch, Frank thought, gestured towards the very obvious man sitting on one of the stools across from the kitchen island erratically. “Steve came by to help us finish unpacking, isn't that sweet?”  
  
The sweetest, Frank thought to himself sourly. And fucking Steve. Steve. That had to be the most generic name of the century for a rental guy. Frank took a seat from one of the stools and gave his most icy glare towards Steve the Rental Guy. “Hey.”

 

“Hey, kid,” The guy's voice was still as roughened from years of smoking as it was the last time. “Any trouble lately?” Steve was obviously hinting at something by the way his question trailed off darkly, but Frank just shook his head as if he were oblivious to it. 

 

“Nope,” He said, popping the 'p' like some bratty, rebellious teenager. His mom was probably having a heart attack right now with the way Frank was acting – probably wondering if he would relapse into something like what he once was in their old town, always getting into trouble with school – but Frank could not honestly wrap his mind around why the hell the rental guy was here with Frank's mom and not doing his job. “Don't you have a job to be doing?”

 

“'m on break,” The guy said, taking a sniff at his coffee like it was a holy sacrament. “Your mom here, real nice lady. You take care of her, kid.”

 

“Oh, don't,” Linda chuckled lightly, flapping a hand in the air. “Frankie can barely deal with himself sometimes.”

 

Frank's mouth dropped open slightly, but he covered it up by coughing fakely. There was no way Steve the Rental Guy and his mom were hitting it off. No fucking way. Frank would not allow it. Taking one look at the guy – balding hair, sunken in cheeks and a week's worth of unshaven stubble – Frank wondered how his mother could even be acting so flustered around him. Even in the dark blue jumpsuit that read 'Dave's Rental Service' the guy didn't look the least bit compromising. Frank could've thrown up.

 

“Do you even _get_ a break?” Frank asked dubiously, eyeing the grotty man who had refused him a cigarette the first time they met. 

 

“Think of it more as hospitality,” Frank's mom flashed a smile at him, and Frank had never seen her look more alive at this time of the morning, unless she was on a Sunday morning cleaning rampage. Or, y'know, screaming at Frank to get up out of bed or she'd take away his stereo player for like, _five weeks_ , which was suicide for Frank, it _was_. 

 

“Anyway,” His mom went on, flapping about the kitchen like the mother hen she was. “Frank, would you tell me where you put the cutlery boxes? I've been trying to find them for days – I _told_ you to put them in the kitchen!”

 

“They're somewhere in the hallway, mom.” Frank replied nonchalantly as he once again eyed the man beside him inhaling his coffee like it was the next drug. 

 

His mom didn't sound so alive anymore. “Well, would you please go and get it?!” Frank made a move to jump down from the stool he was perched on, until his mother spoke again. “Oh, and have Steve help you – you don't want to get hurt.”

 

Frank could've groaned. Actually, he did groan, and in return his mother smacked him lightly across the head, probably messing up his already tousled black hair further. Steve just sent him a greasy smile and jumped off of his seat, too, giving Frank a rough pat on the back that sent him staggering forward a step. “C'mon, kiddo.”

 

Frank glared at the guy's back as he retreated and made a move to follow him out and into the hallway, the swinging door of the kitchen flapping shut behind him. Frank didn't even know how his mom could have missed it, the boxes were clearly labelled 'CUTLERY' on the top and sides, and it was gobsmack in the middle of the hallway, albeit to the side a little.

 

“Alright, kid, you grab that box there and I'll grab this'un,” The guy – Steve – ordered heftily. 

 

“What are you doing?” Frank blurted out suddenly, crossing his hands over his chest and refusing to pick up any boxes.

 

Steve looked down at the box in his hands, back to Frank, back to the box, and then finally, to Frank. “Gettin' the boxes.”

 

“Don't play stupid,” Frank spat. “What are you doing with my mom?”

 

Steve laughed a throaty chortle as he finally realised what Frank was getting at. “Look, kid, I ain't planning anything with your ma. You know what I came over here for today? I came to see that you” - he jabbed a thick finger towards Frank's chest - “aren't messin' around with any of them.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the house next door – The Way house, Frank supposed.

 

Frank frowned. “You're too late. And why do you care? What's so bad about the Ways?” Frank couldn't see anything  _wrong_ with Gerard... Despite the disappearing act he had witnessed on the first day, and, well, general creepiness. But Frank had come across a lot of creepy kids back in his old town at school. It was a generalised thing, not anything personal.

 

The joking demeanour of Steve suddenly switched to a more grave one. “What did you just say, boy?”

 

“That... you're too late?”

 

“You already met one of them, didn't 'cha?” 

 

“Gerard Way?” Frank formed it as a question. “I don't see your problem with them, he's not as weird as you--”

 

“Look,” Steve dropped the box. Frank was pretty sure he heard something smash or clutter around in it, but he couldn't take the time to mind it when Steve stepped around it and began to close in on Frank, fingers gripping at Frank's shoulders tightly. “You need to stay far away from that family, boy, or bad things will happen,” He shook Frank slightly. “Bad things. They're a weird group o' people... No, not people. _Things_. You gotta stay away.”

 

“You're hurting me.” Frank said pointedly, shrugging the guy's grubby hands off his shoulders roughly. “And what you said is wrong. Gerard's not weird at all.” Okay, it was a lie. But what was he supposed to say when the crazy dude started grabbing him and giving him wild eyes?

 

“Boys?” His mom called from the doorway of the kitchen. “Is everything alright? I heard a crash.”

 

In unison, both Frank and Steve looked down at the box that was dropped. Frank gave him a glare, just for good measure. “Yeah, ma. Everything's fine.” Frank picked up his own box, and passed Steve without so much as another glance. When he had gotten it to the kitchen, he returned to his room like the angsty teenager he was and blasted the music as loud as it would go without his mom stomping up the stairs and banging on his door to turn it down.

 

●●●

 

Eventually, however, at around lunch time his mother did start banging on his door, though for a completely different reason. Frank switched his music off and opened the door to his mom that looked positively... ecstatic.

 

“Honey, the Ways called,” His mom stated, grinning widely. Instantly a pool of dread began to form around the pit of Frank's stomach, settling in. Okay. He had talked to Gerard a total of two times in a creepy church, and he knew that his parents had come over when Frank was out last week to introduce themselves, but fuck. Okay. He wasn't prepared for this at all.

 

His mom didn't waste time to continue. “They want to know how you feel about going to theirs for dinner tonight. Apparently you're close with their son, Gerard.”

 

Yep. There was that dread again, bubbling up towards his throat. Frank tried not to projectile vomit, not that that was a thing he was accustomed to doing. “What... What about you?”

 

“Oh,” His mother's face fell in pity. Yeah, Frank would think he deserved some pity for this fate. “I have a job interview tonight, baby. New town, new beginnings, right?”

 

“Right,” Frank managed to breathe out. 

 

“It's a desk job at the hospital, not too far from here. This town is so old, we're lucky everything is right in the town square.”

 

“Yeah,” Frank replied automatically. Trying to ignore his inner panic attack was kind of hard, actually, when he was pretty much being lured to his _instant death_ by his own mom. Goddamn. Why had he not taken Steve's warnings to heart?

 

“So, tonight,” His mom perked up. “And make sure to dress up properly, Frank.” She gave his pyjama attire a look of disappointment. It was almost past midday. “Don't embarrass us.”

 

“Please,” Frank muttered to himself when she had walked away from his room. “When have I ever.”

 

 

 

Of course, once the sun began to set and his mother began to fuss around with papers and clothes and different types of perfume – why did one person need so many types of perfume – Frank's panic really began to set in. There was no way he could go over to the Way house tonight, no way in Hell. Every time he thought about it, Steve's words would replay over and over in his head, warning him about the people – 'things' he had said. Frank would've just written it off as Steve being an insensitive prick, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe it was just nerves.

 

But there was Gerard – he knew Gerard, right? He shouldn't be so worried. Gerard was weird, sure, but he wasn't as weird as Steve had originally implied, so how weird could the family be as a whole? Not half as weird as Steve had said, most likely. Steve was beginning to feel like a doomsday preacher to Frank. Even if this was to 'get to know the neighbours' Frank wasn't feeling up for it at all. He'd never had to do this in his old town, but then again, the neighbours didn't really live in houses that looked more like three story buildings built in the 1500s.

 

Plus, choosing an appropriate outfit for the dinner meant that Frank had to find something that would hide the wound on his neck, and he was lucky enough his mom hadn't even noticed it.

 

“I really hope I get this job, Frankie,” His mom raised her concerns to him absent-mindedly as she fumbled with putting earrings on. Frank watched her from his lazy sprawl across the couch, flipping through fuzzy channels – when the hell would they get better reception? “I can't remember the last time I worked in a hospital.”

 

They both knew it was a white lie. She'd been forced to quit after a co-worker had raised questions to the marks on his mom's body. His shitty excuse for a father had forced her out of work. “You'll do great, ma,” Frank answered back, giving her the most reassuring smile he could muster - in between his inner struggle with coping with the fact he would have to go eat with the Ways alone. “You look great. They'll be so blown away by your beauty they'll  _have_ to hire you.”

 

“Frank,” His mom cooed, coming close to bring him into a rib shattering hug and kissing his head. “You're really growing up. I'm proud of you, baby.”

 

“Mo- _om_ ,” Frank complained, ripping himself from her bone-crushing grip.

 

“Sorry, sorry. Also, get those chips off the sofa. I won't have you ruining it,” Linda snapped, before smoothing out her business skirt and taking in a deep breath. “This is good for us, Frankie.”

 

“I know, ma.”

 

“Be at the Ways by five, alright? Be good,” His mom wrapped him in another tight embrace, kissed his forehead this time, and grabbed her keys and purse. Before she could get in another forehead-kiss, though, Frank blocked it with a pillow and another, “Mo-ooooom!”

 

Linda only laughed and ruffled Frank's hair up beyond oblivion. “Be good for Mr and Mrs. Way, okay?”

 

Frank replied with his affirmation and watched as his mother left the room, listened to the sound of the groaning front door shut with a loud click, and waited for the sound of the car leaving the driveway to promptly freak the fuck out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could call this a short filler chapter leading up to the next one! I really need to stop updating so often. ;-;  
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments too! They make me want to cry, seriously, man. Thank you. Psh. :')


	5. Five

“Mister Frank Iero?”

 

Frank scuffed his beat-up shoes against the oversized porch nervously. The Ways driveway had to be at least a fucking mile long. It was a trek to get up here, and now he was left staring up a three-story home that looked more like a Victorian mansion than a suburban house. Oh, and not to mention the fucking _butler_ that had opened the massive door – with a _doorknocker_ , seriously, who _had_ those anymore – for him. 

 

“Uh,” Was Frank's answer. He blinked and tried to peer around the butler guy, but couldn't see anything past him. The butler stared at him, awaiting a reply. “Yeah.”

 

That seemed to be enough for the guy. He opened the door wide enough and gestured for Frank to enter. This was too  _unreal_ for Frank, it felt like as soon as he stepped foot onto just the porch all his nerves were on edge. 

 

“Jacket?” The butler held out his hand as soon as Frank stepped inside, mouth dropping at the fancy interior. It really was a Victorian home.

 

Frank glanced at the butler's hand. “Oh, uh... I'd rather just leave it on.” He kicked his foot against the rug that seemed to go along the entire main hallway. The butler watched him do it bemusedly.

 

Frank didn't miss the glance the butler gave towards Frank's neck, despite it being covered. “I must insist.”

 

“It's- It's really fine--”

 

There was a blinding flash of white that covered Frank's entire sight, one that he seemed to be all too familiar with. He staggered back a bit, taken aback. “Here,” Frank slipped off the jacket he had thrown on simply to hide his neck wound and placed it into the butler's hand. However, instead of looking pleased, the butler's twisted smile fell as soon as his eyes rested on the healing wound on Frank's neck. Frank turned away shyly from the inspection.

 

“So, uh, where's--” Frank began.

 

He was interrupted by a voice he wasn't accustomed to. “Mister Iero!”

 

A woman with strikingly blonde hair and sharp eyes approached him, reaching for his hand to shake even though he hadn't offered it. “I must say, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm Mrs. Way.”

 

Frank was too afraid to ask what she meant by that. “It's... You can call me Frank.”

 

“Of course, Gerard's already told me about you. Though you are much more attractive in person, what a handsome young man.” Mrs. Way gave a hearty laugh and let go of Frank's hand, gesturing the butler away. Frank could've sworn there was a glint in his eye as he caught Frank's gaze when he left, but then again, it could've just been the light.

 

“Where's Mr. Way?” Frank asked nervously, glancing around the house in still amazement. The huge staircase leading up to the second floor winded up and around until it couldn't be seen anymore, and was draped in a deep red carpet. Although Frank's new house had been big to him, it barely compared to the size of this one. What did one even do with this much space?

 

“Oh,” Mrs. Way's eyebrows furrowed. “He won't be joining us tonight. He has business to attend to in his... study.”

 

Okay. Frank couldn't argue with that, and although he had been finding a lot to be weirded out by lately, it was a fairly normal thing, right? Busy fathers. Not that Frank would know.

 

There was the sound of feet flitting down the grand staircase, and suddenly in a flash Gerard was standing at the foot of it, giving Frank wide eyes like he wasn't even supposed to be here. Almost instantly upon sight of him that same tug in his mind from a week ago grew stronger in Frank's head. Gerard's eyes, much like the butler's, flickered to Frank's exposed neck. Frank resorted to adjusting his collar just to get Gerard to mind his own business and stop staring. “Frank?”

 

Frank swallowed down his nervousness and tried his best to stop kicking at the goddamn floor. “Hey.”

 

Gerard approached him cautiously, with narrowed eyes, as Mrs. Way gave them both a content look and left to her own business. “Where's your jacket?”

 

Frank shrugged, trying not to think about the fact Gerard was probably ogling the huge ass fucking wound on his neck again. “Stop staring, man.”

 

Gerard looked away. “I'm not staring.” He said, but soon enough, his eyes flickered back to Frank's neck. “Maybe I'm staring,” He admitted, eyes reaching Frank's.

 

Frank's face went hot under Gerard's intense scrutiny, but he just gestured around the house like they were talking about the weather. “Nice house.”

 

Gerard stepped forward and made a motion for Frank to follow him through the winding hallways. “It's alright.”

 

“Alright? It's fucking...” Frank trailed off, seemingly lost in thought as he watched Gerard's back lead him through the maze of a house. He watched the way the fabric of Gerard's shirt moved as he walked and the way his black pants clung to his legs. Definitely lost in thought. When he had gained enough sense to snap out of it, he realised he was getting closer and closer to Gerard as he followed him, almost like a lost puppy. He let himself fall behind a bit, keeping his distance. It was the tug in the back of his mind urging him closer, that was it. Even if Frank didn't believe in any of it.

 

Gerard pushed open a large, double-door, and pulled Frank into the room they had just entered. Which, upon sight, Frank realised was not actually a room, but a fucking grand hall.

 

“Dining room,” Gerard mumbled.

 

Frank could see the long table paired with chairs, and the candelabras and decorations that hung around the middle of the table. It was literally something out of a Victorian era movie. “What, are we dining with the Queen?” Frank muttered more to himself as Gerard sat himself down in one of the fancy chairs and gestured for Frank to do the same, beside him. He might have heard Gerard snort in amusement in reply, but it could've just been his imagination.

 

“Dude, why do you live in a _castle_?” Frank asked in a hushed voice as the same butler from before entered the room from another door, bringing two silver platters with him and setting them down on the table.

 

The place was giving off an extremely eerie vibe to Frank – and not because the place didn't have any source of light besides a few yellow wall lamps and chandeliers. Frank could vaguely see the remnants of cobwebs in the far corners of each room, too. It was as if nobody really  _lived_ here at all.

 

“You don't remember, do you?” Gerard posed his unusual question anxiously, as if he was hoping for a negative reply, which Frank was more than happy to give.

 

He rolled his eyes. “How can I remember something when I don't even know what I'm supposed to be remembering?”

 

Gerard didn't answer, but still stayed quiet even when Mrs. Way finally entered and took her seat at the end of the table. She gave off a dangerous vibe, too, and each minute Frank spent in this house the more he began to feel unsafe. Maybe Steve the Rental Guy was right about these people. Then again, Frank wasn't one to conform to social norms.

 

Mrs. Way shot Gerard a warning look. “Where's your brother?”

 

Brother? Frank sunk lower in his seat. There were more? He wasn't even sure if he was prepared to meet more Ways than this.

The air in the room suddenly changed – it got stuffier and dead. “I'm here,” A bored-sounding voice sounded from across the room, from the same door Gerard and Frank had entered through.

 

“Mikey, sit.” Mrs. Way ordered. Frank noticed that she didn't even raise her tone, and even though the room was big enough that the other Way brother would have to strain his ears to hear her speak from that far away, he still managed to hear her clearly. He took a seat from across Frank and raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise said nothing. “We're having dinner.” Mrs. Way stated matter-of-factly.

 

Well, yeah, Frank thought. Obviously. What else would they all be doing here? Hadn't the other Way brother gotten the memo?

 

Apparently, he had not, because he gave her a look of irritation. “We never have dinner.”

 

“ _Mikey_.” Mrs. Way's tone became threatening. It wasn't warning, like Frank's mom was usually, but quite literally _threatening_.

 

Gerard, god-thankfully, spoke up and broke the static air hanging between the radiant participants. “We should eat.”

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Way replied, giving Mikey another look. “We should _eat_.”

 

Frank watched the exchange happen in discomfort. Something like uncertainty swirled around in his stomach and made it hard for him to swallow. Why were they acting like eating was such a foreign act? Like they had to  _remind_ each other it was what they  _should_ do? 

 

The butler from before came back with more platters, and took off the covers for everybody to dig in. However, when Frank thought of 'dinner' he thought of everyone reaching for the food and stuffing it on their plates in a hungered frenzy. He did not expect to be the only one reaching for vegetables like he didn't know they were poisoned. It wasn't the fact he was the only one eating that bothered him, it was the fact Mrs. Way was smiling at him delightedly, like it was a pleasure to have someone eating their food in front of them, like it was a delight to watch someone eat while the rest of your family didn't.

 

Mikey, who was tall and lanky and whose face was more ovular than Gerard's, looked irked. Frank couldn't see Gerard's face, but his hands were planted in his lap, so Frank wasn't so sure how he felt about being quite literally the only one with food on his plate. This had to be the most unsettling, awkward dinner ever.

 

“So, Frank,” Mrs. Way broke the silence, smiling widely and eerily. “I hear you and your poor mother live in that big house all by _yourselves_... Correct?”

“Mom!” Gerard snapped in a hushed manner. “Not. Food.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Frank replied, trying his best to swallow his vegetables without wondering if they actually _were_ poisoned. “It's... not as big as yours, though.” Frank nodded like he was approving of it, and tried his best to ignore the last part of what Gerard said. Maybe it was an inside thing. A previous conversation. 

 

“Oh, please,” Mikey piped up, picking up a shiny, silver butter knife and inspecting it boredly. “This house is as old as grandpa.”

 

“Aren't you... going to eat?” Frank tried to ask Mikey, who was still inspecting the knife. Mikey looked from the knife, to Frank, then back again. Like it was something foreign to him.

 

“I'm not very hungry.” Mikey said, though it held a trace of sarcasm in it. He looked like he didn't want to be here at all, and Frank wasn't afraid to admit he wasn't the only one.

 

“Oh.” Frank said. “Well...” He trailed off aimlessly, shovelling another forkful of green beans into his mouth.

 

Frank was pretty sure dinners ended when everyone was satisfied and full, and with the way things were going initially, he was sure the end of the night would never come. Unless, of course, the only purpose the Ways were serving was to fill Frank up with food and make him leave.

 

“Gerard talks about you a lot,” Mikey suddenly said.

 

“Mikey!” Gerard hissed.

 

“You do,” Mikey told him pointedly, ignoring Gerard's fiery glare. He looked back to Frank. “We're not even supposed to mingle with your kind.”

 

“My kind?” Frank shot back, kind of offended. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Whatever it meant, Frank didn't even get to know, because Mrs. Way cut in and changed the subject, almost like she was trying to shut Mikey up.

 

“I see you and Gerard have made quite the acquaintance over the past week,” She stated, smiling politely.

 

Frank wouldn't say that. More like, Gerard scared the fuck out of him but Frank tolerated him because sometimes, he acted like a normal teenager. “Yeah,” Frank said.

 

“We haven't had many people over before,” Mrs. Way told him. “My apologies for the mess.”

 

Mess? The only mess Frank could see was the fucking cobwebs and dust, and he was somewhat 64% sure these people barely  _lived_ here. Houses were meant to be used and it was quite obvious some things hadn't been touched in years. “Oh, it's...” Frank trailed off again.

 

“All the servants tried to quit,” Mikey spoke up again, looking at Frank with an expression that Frank couldn't determine. Maybe like Mikey was trying to scare him off. “Don't eat the pork.”

 

“Why not?” Frank asked, furrowing his eyebrows and eyeing the pork that laid on one of the platters. It wasn't like he would eat it anyway, being a vegetarian, but it still stumped him.

 

“It's not pork.”

 

“Mikey, that's enough.” Gerard warned lowly.

 

“That wound on your neck, Frank...” Mrs. Way's voice came strong and clear and confident, like she'd been waiting to cut through the aimless conversation and ask about it since she first saw Frank. She turned toward Gerard, eyes cutting into him like glass and accusing, but Gerard didn't falter under her gaze. “Gerard?”

 

Mikey raised both eyebrows this time, and Frank for the third time tonight felt someone's eyes inspecting the wound on his neck. When Mrs. Way repeated Gerard's name, stronger this time, Gerard only replied by closing his eyes and shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed.

 

Mrs. Way sighed and stood up from her chair, making it screech the floorboards a little as she did so. “Frank,” She said seriously. Frank placed his cutlery down on his plate and looked up at Mrs. Way in nervousness. “This will only hurt a little.”

 

Frank opened his mouth, “What--” but his eyes locked with hers and suddenly the familiar whiteness was invading his senses, stronger this time. Frank _screamed_ at the invasion, becoming almost disorientated when his sense of hearing became all but a fuzzy static noise, the white almost blinding him until he was sure he would never see again. He couldn't feel the chair beneath him anymore and the white flashing through his mind like a wave of sharp knives left his head pounding with almost agony. When it began to fade, Frank's chair screeched in protest as he scrambled out of his chair and fell to the floor, bringing along a loud clatter of cutlery and plates with him. He was barely seeing what was in front of him anymore, his mind was still latched on the pain he had just endured.

 

Had it all been psychological? It had felt like a huge headache.

 

Then; it rushed back. The memories. The blank slot in his mind was filled, but not before the memories went flashing behind his eyes and blinding him once again. Waking up, being thrown against the counter, helpless as Gerard dug his teeth into his neck, ripping the skin open and leaving him bleeding out. In his own _kitchen_.

 

Frank gasped embarrassingly loudly when he could see again, the memories becoming a dull thud in the back of his head. He scrambled further back, away from the table, away from Gerard once he met his wide hazel eyes.

 

“That was unnecessary,” Gerard snapped to his mother, his own chair groaning as he stood up from it.

 

Mrs. Way stood up too. Mikey, however, stayed seated and watched the scene play on with a half-interested look. “He wouldn't have remembered on his _own_ , Gerard, are you dim?!” Mrs. Way said loudly.

 

“That was the _point_!” Gerard yelled back. Frank finally understood why Gerard had been constantly making sure Frank didn't remember anything – _wouldn't_ remember anything – and giving him false hope that he would.

 

Mrs. Way breathed in through her nose deeply, like she was trying to keep her rage together. “The addiction has started, hasn't it, Gerard? You lust for him.”

 

Gerard looked back at Frank, who watched on with hurtful eyes. He was confused, and fucking scared, and he couldn't understand why the tug in his mind was becoming an erratic jab. It was evident to say dinner had been ruined.

 

“...And he lusts for you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "horror" aspect of this story will start to kick-in in a few chapters! So, dinner with the Ways. Went well.   
> Thanks to all you lovely people for the comments and kudos, they make me oink like a swine! Tell me what you think! <3


	6. Six

“What the _hell_ was that?” Frank asked incredulously as he followed Gerard's form to the front door of the Way home, skipping his short steps to catch up effectively. “What the hell just happened?!”  
  


Frank had just been put under some next-level mindfuckery, and he wasn't about to let it slide like it didn't just happen, unlike Gerard. Things like this didn't just _happen_. Things like this, in the normal world, weren't _supposed_ to happen, for God's sake! He had memories of Gerard plunging his _teeth_ into Frank's neck and he was supposed to let him off without a single worry? 'Yeah, man, you kind of left a gaping _wound_ on my neck when you _ravaged_ it with your _monster teeth_ , but no worries!'. That wasn't the way it went at _all_.  
  


Gerard still refused to answer and insisted on ignoring Frank's pleas for an explanation, so Frank tugged on the back of Gerard's shirt until he finally stopped right before the front door. Gerard turned, gave Frank a dark, narrowed look with his eyes, and threw a lump of cloth onto Frank's head. “Your jacket,” Gerard said.  
  


“ Thanks,  _asshole_ ,” Frank replied, struggling to find his way for air around the oversized article of clothing and slipping it on latterly. “Is this the part where you kick me out of your house after a less-than-pleasant family dinner in which  _nobody but me_ ate human food?” Frank scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly whilst scrunching his nose up in disgust, “Oh, and not to mention the pretty off-putting witchcraft your mom did in my head, there.”   
  


Gerard rolled his eyes. Well, at least Frank  _assumed_ he rolled his eyes, because he couldn't see them in the darkness of the main hallway which was only illuminated by the dim wall lamps, “Get out.”   
  


Frank instantly bubbled up with anger, his fingers curling to form fists, “So you  _are_ kicking me out!” There was an unexplainable lump of hatred that threatened to explode voluntarily in his stomach any moment now, and for an instant Frank was too kindly reminded of how many fights he'd gotten into in his last school, because he'd loved the thrill of it too much - loved the adrenaline, the over-taking anger that pooled around his stomach and clouded his mind with wrath.   
  


“Yes,” Gerard stated simply like he was talking to a four-year-old, turning the knob of the door so that it clicked and swung open with a groan, “I am.”  
  


Frank still couldn't see Gerard's face, but it only made the rage blind him even more. He wanted to fucking  _punch_ something, kick at something, but he couldn't do it here. How was Gerard acting so collected like nothing had even happened? Was there a type of mind trick that made you forget?  
  
  
Was that why  _Frank_ forgot the terrible things Gerard had done to him? He could punch Gerard in his goddamn face right now.   
  


Frank refused to move past Gerard, only clenching his fists in his crossed arms. “ _Tell_ me what the hell is going on.”   
  


Gerard breathed in deeply through his nose and turned sharply to face Frank, eyes dark and filled with hatred that only shocked Frank to the core. “I don't  _know_ .”   
  


“ You  _do!_ ”  Frank stepped forward, arms slipping from their defiant embrace and hands shaking with a collective amount of rage, fear and confusion. “I'm so  _fucking_ confused right now, Gerard, you have no idea! You can't just deny everything that's happening!”   
  


Gerard placed a cold hand on Frank's back that gave him shivers and pushed him forcibly out the front door and onto the porch, where cold air lapped at Frank's exposed skin. “You want my advice, Frank?” He seethed, grabbing hold of the door handle. “Go to a library.” The sound of the door slamming shut was more of a boom to Frank's ears, concluding and final.  
  


In retrospect, he couldn't seem to understand the source of Gerard's sudden anger.  _He_ didn't have a right to be angry, after all, it was Frank who was supposed to be the confused one! Frank had just suffered excruciating mental pain, and then told an 'addiction' had started between him and Gerard, which was quite the opposite – Frank wanted nothing to do with Gerard Way, and his feelings towards him were as far from being described as an 'addiction' than anything. He wasn't  _addicted_ to Gerard, and the tug in his head was all psychological, he could ignore it. He could pretend it wasn't real. Because it  _wasn't_ .   
  


Maybe Gerard felt the same way. Maybe, Gerard's mother was a crazy loon spouting crazy theories and Gerard was just as confused and pissed off about it as Frank was, and under _those_ circumstances Frank would be content.   
  
  
Except it seemed Gerard knew exactly what Mrs. Way had said, and he had been trying to repress it or deny it. Ignore it, like Frank had with that irritating tug in his head pulling him closer to Gerard. Frank wanted nothing more than to be as far away from Gerard as possible.  
  


Frank knew the Ways couldn't be human, and Steve the Rental Guy's insane preaching was more than accurate. More accurate than Frank had first thought, at least. He still held the slightest notion that Steve wasn't all there in the head, though, and as long as he was in contact with Frank's mom he would continue to believe it. Just the thought of Steve getting down with Frank's  _mom –_ his  _mom –_ made Frank cringe.   
  


But if the Ways weren't human – which they so obviously were certainly not – what the hell were they?  _Normal_ people didn't show up in Frank's kitchen asking him to 'play' and then proceed to bite into his fucking neck. Frank didn't want to think about the kissing, because he remembered the kissing and he knew if he had a choice in the matter, he would've chosen to repress the memory of it. Frank  _also_ remembered the excruciating agony that came with the bite, and even if Frank  _had_ liked kissing Gerard it would've still put him off of it completely.   
  


Frank decided to do the best thing and throw the weight off his shoulders with a shrug when he got home that night. So what? The family was weird.  
  


As soon as the thought had crossed his mind Frank groaned and threw himself onto his bed when he got upstairs without even bothering to take his shoes off first. They were morethan just _weird_ , and Frank _knew_ that. There was no way he could play the innocent victim and take his mind off of it, or try his best to ignore the plaguing weirdos that lived next door, because no matter what he saw or thought it kept leading back to the Ways.  
  
  
Frank had never been to a family dinner before, but he was pretty sure that was _not_ how they were supposed to go. He was also pretty sure the _Ways_ themselves had never been to a family dinner before, or even, like, ate in the same room at all. Or _ate_ in general.  
  


Frank would've waited for his mom to get home from her interview, because the dinner couldn't have gone for more than two hours at the most, but he ended up slipping into an uncomfortable sleep with his face mashed up against the sheets at the opposite end of the bed. Even in his _dreams_ the Ways plagued his thoughts and intoxicated them. 

  
Frank felt like he was apart of some sort of mystery-thriller novel, but he was more than sure the entire Way family was just a bunch of weird people with weird habits. Maybe they didn't eat pork or vegetables. Maybe they had a sweet tooth for more savoury desserts. It wasn't Frank's place to judge.  
  


Yet, even as he continued to put off the thoughts in his dreams, it was like they were being forced upon him, coercing him into thinking even more, like he was just behind a breakthrough. He knew that couldn't be true.

 

 

●●●

 

 

Frank awoke with a startled gasp at precisely 4:04 in the morning, grappling around his sheets which clung to his exposed, sweaty skin disgustingly. He grimaced at the feeling and made a move of untangling himself from them and throwing them as far away from him as they could be. Something wasn't right.   
  
  
Even though Frank had never been one to take a precaution or even _listen_ to the danger alarms in his head, this time was different. Something had woken him up, because having dreams about the cute guy from his old school was definitely _not_ a reason to be waking up at four in the morning.  
  


Frank was almost ready to slip his shoes off - which he noticed were still on with an aggravated groan - and bring his head back to his pillow to fall back into his blissful, nightmare-free dream of cute guys and perfect lives, until a shatter from downstairs made him freeze and go cold all over.  
  


No. _No._ This wasn't happening again. He swore to _fuck_ if they didn't get a better home security system Frank would just end up sleeping outside while he guarded the house with a baseball bat, because this was _ridiculous_.   
  


Frank sighed – more like groaned again – and got out of his bed, just remembering to slip off the jacket he had fallen asleep in. He didn't need to watch that many horror movies to know that there was either a deranged psychopath killer in his kitchen, or it was just _Gerard_.  
  


But really, what was the difference?

 

Frank managed to get down the creaking staircase without making that much of a commotion, and even though he partly _knew_ what waited for him downstairs he couldn't help the unsteady thump of his heart getting reading to take a hike up and out of his chest.  
  


As he reached the swinging door that led to the kitchen, Frank hesitated and got the familiar sense of deja vu sweeping over him, except this time he _knew_ it had happened before. He was going to walk in and hopefully not be ravaged by Gerard, and totally not in a sexual way. 

  
Frank was too tired – and partly grumpy over being interrupted from his pleasant dream – to even _care_ at this point, though. He pushed the door open wide, coming (hopefully) face-to-face with the dark figure of none other than Gerard Way sitting on the kitchen countertop.  
  


“What did you smash?” Frank asked nonchalantly, blinking to adjust to the darkness. The door swung shut behind him, except this time, Frank didn't jump at it. “And could you get out? I need to sleep.”  
  


“I'm hungry,” Was Gerard's answer, adjoined by a non-committal shrug.   
  


Frank snorted, “You have more than enough food in your own Goddamn house. I should know, I ate it.”  
  


“I don't eat food,” Gerard said matter-of-factly, like Frank should've _known_ that.   
  


“Don't remind me.”  
  


“I'm sorry about my family.”  
  


Frank could've barked a laugh in Gerard's pale, pretty face. “If I recall, you were also the one to kick me out with no plausible reason.”  
  


“The dinner was over,” Gerard shrugged again.  
  


Frank groaned, rolled his eyes, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair all at once. “So, what now? Are you going to take a chunk out of my neck again? Maybe you'd like to go for the leg, this time? I heard the wrists are the juiciest parts.”  
  


“ _Frank_ ,” Gerard groaned, “I said I was sorry.”  
  


What was he, a _cannibal_? If anything it made more sense than something else Frank could've came up with. Frank edged around the counter to see Gerard's face better, but because of his added height and the fact he was perched on the counter, he had to strain his neck to see. Gerard's eyes seemed to glow, or twinkle, in the darkness.  
  


“Can you get out?” Frank asked, trying a more polite approach.  
  


“I could,” Gerard replied easily. “But I don't want to.”  
  


“This isn't your house.”  
  


“I know. It's _yours_.”  
  


“Exactly, so would you please leave and let me _sleep_?”  
  


“And leave you to dream about cute boys again?” Gerard teased, waving his fingers tauntingly at Frank.   
  


Frank's eyes instantly narrowed and his mouth dropped open. How the hell had Gerard known that? “What?”  
  


“You have a really open mind, Frankie,” Gerard went on. “It's like I don't even have to try to get inside it. Mother told me it'd take a while to get the hang of it, but... It seems like our link is stronger than anyone expected.”  
  


“First of all,” Frank finally said after he had stopped leaving his mouth hanging open like a mentally-retard goldfish. He held up a finger for Gerard to listen. “What the _fuck_.”  
  


“Would you stop acting so dumbfounded?”  
  


“Would you stop saying weird things?!” Frank almost quite literally _exploded_ with the words, throwing his arms up and eyes widening in a crazed manner. He couldn't understand what Gerard's _problem_ was.  
  


“I know you're confused-”  
  


Frank stopped him. “I'm not _confused_ ,” He said venomously. “I'm fucking _lost_. I don't know what or who the hell you are. Most of all, I just want you out of my kitchen so I can go to sleep.”  
  


“You don't want me to leave,” Came Gerard's all of a sudden soothing voice. He hopped down from the counter and approached Frank, trailing the knuckles of his fingers down his jawline, fingers slipping lower until they caressed the side of Frank's neck which didn't look like a dog had mauled it. He ran his slightly calloused fingers along the smooth skin, the groove between the outwards dent of his collarbone, before looking back up to Frank.  
  


Frank couldn't see Gerard's face, but he felt like he could see every expression passing Frank's. Disbelief, intimidation, fear, and then something else... that Frank would never admit, even if his heart rate did go faster for a reason other than primeval fear. Gerard shot him a toothy smile, and even his small, sharp _teeth_ had a certain glow to them in the darkness. It was almost threatening.   
  
  
"Meet me at the church later today, okay? I promise I'll explain it all," He ran his fingers back up to Frank's cheekbone, touching it softly and with a light, precise touch.  
  


Frank had to swallow hard to be able to get words out at all. "Everything?"  
  


Gerard shot him a smile. "Everything." He agreed. "Get some rest, Frankie."  
  


Frank's mind felt numb. "What about you? I can make you, like... Fuck, poptarts? I-If you're hungry. I think that's all we've got."  
  


Gerard paused for a moment, but then laughed. "No, Frank."   
  
  
And with those words and a look from Gerard, a wave of calm swept over Frank, almost drowning him in the process. He rocked back on his heels swiftly, lids feeling suddenly heavy. "Alright."  
  


"Go to sleep."  
  


"Okay."  
  


"Now."  
  


"Yep.”  
  
  
“Oh, and Frankie,” Gerard called out when Frank turned on his heel groggily to leave, “You enjoyed tonight. It was a pleasant family dinner.”  
  
  
Frank could feel an annoying prickling feeling making it's way up the back of his neck and coercing him into almost _believing_ the words, but Frank shook his head and the feeling just... _went away_. “No I didn't,” he answered lightly and contently, still under the influence of the tumbling calm waves that engulfed his mind and body, “And no it wasn't.”  
  
  
Frank turned on his heel again, letting the calmness cleanse him – and getting a glance at Gerard's for some reason shocked face when he left. And as Frank stumbled out the kitchen, up the stairs and into his own bed, did his mind finally clear. What kind of trance was that? What the hell had Gerard just done to him?  
  
  
Was he some sort of witch? His original anger returned again, but was only emphasised by the amount of confusion he held for that stupid fucking black-haired boy with the pale skin and good looks... Not that he minded being calmed by the weird boy.  
  


Not that he would admit that.  
  


With the confusion on his mind, and the memory of the rolling waves of calmness he'd just witnessed surround him (only adding to the confusion – how had Gerard done that?) Frank fell into a deep sleep, one that only ended in a familiar nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo I'm back! Thanks for the kudos while I took a few days off from updating! Trying my best to get the latter chapters typed up and the plot thawed out and such. ;-; Anyways, just a lil filler chapter - but I've got something huge in store for the next one. Prepare yourselves. >:)


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's sorta long. Enjoy!

  
When Frank had woken up, he was met with the pleasant sight of Steve the Rental Guy to be  _nowhere_ in his kitchen, or living room, at all. He wasn't even outside, taking a drag of a cigarette, and he  _definitely_ wasn't chatting up Frank's mom, making her laugh and hide her smile behind her own coffee mug. When Frank had scratched at his head and asked his mom about it when he'd walked into the sight of her alone and reading the newspaper, she had cocked her head to the side and furrowed her neat eyebrows carefully.

"Oh," She had said, almost as if just remembering. "He wasn't answering his calls yesterday night, so I couldn't get him to come over today to help out."

Frank bit his tongue from expressing his gratitude out loud. Thank  _God_ the guy was gone. Admittedly, he seemed to have made his mom happy, but Frank  _knew_ she deserved better than some greaseball like Steve. She could find better - better than his dad, better than Steve - and she had to know it, too. Yet, there was some trace of worry in her tone, like his mother was implying it wasn't normal for Steve to not answer calls.

Frank wouldn't be surprised, anyway, they had hired out the cheapest service they could find in town for the move.

"He did say something about getting an emergency call from the Ways before he left. He didn't seem too happy about it," His mom took a timid sip from her coffee mug and inhaled the smell. "Oh! I almost forgot - how was the dinner, Frankie? You were asleep by the time I got home."

Frank tried to snap himself out of the frozen position he'd been stuck in since his mom had mentioned _Steve_ and the _Ways_ in one sentence. "It was... awesome."  


  
●●●  
  
  


Frank woke up for the third time that week covered in sweat and gasping for well-needed air. It took him a whole ten minutes to get his breathing pattern regulated again and another five minutes to get himself to stop shaking. When he had finally calmed down enough to think straight, he sighed in frustration and sat up fully, throwing his feet down onto the hard wood floor beneath him. Fucking nightmares. They were always the same – involving Frank and the field near the abandoned church. There was always someone telling him to wake up, and then...  
  
Frank shuddered, not wanting to think about it. Then there would be something white and bony that screamed death running at him, shrieking and exposing it's sharp canines.  
  
He always woke up before it got to him, though. Frank hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in _days_ , and it was all because of these stupid dreams. He kept getting them ever since he met Gerard that one day in the church. He felt like they hinted at something, but Frank never knew what. He supposed they were just dreams.  
  
And besides; Frank had never gone to meet Gerard at the church for an explanation on everything. An entire week had passed before he'd even _seen_ Gerard again. Mainly because Frank still held a grudge against him and couldn't fathom ruining his Summer relaxation for all the confusion and frustration Gerard usually gave him.  
  
Just when Frank could start thinking straight again, however, a sharp pain penetrated his head, tugging and pulling more persistently than anything he'd ever felt. Frank stood up from his bed and began walking towards his bedroom door – instantly the tug began to subside, like it was sure he was following it now. It felt relieving every step he took downstairs, since the tug began to lift more and more with the distance he covered. It was if it was taking him somewhere... leading him somewhere.  
  
It was too insistent to even _ignore_ , as much as Frank would've liked to. It consumed his thoughts with a sort of timeless panic, too, making him feel as if he _needed_ to get to wherever the tug in his mind was pulling him towards. The reason was pointless, and Frank hadn't even bothered checking the alarm clock in his room for the time, but the only thing illuminating the darkness as he slipped out from the front door was the moonlight, high up in the sky.  
  
He was vaguely aware of himself still in pyjama pants and a too-big t-shirt that exposed his healing neck too much for comfort, but the tug pulling him to the Way house seemed like an extreme priority at that moment.

 

Knocking on the huge, looming front door of the Way home – mansion, more like – was nothing particularly  _new_ to Frank, but it still scared him shitless. He shuffled his feet around, also aware of the fact he had not slipped on shoes and was going to have the biggest cuts of his life on his feet, due to walking up that goddamn gravel driveway of theirs. Three knocks was all Frank gave; three, loud and clear, ringing knocks. He thought about using the doorknocker for it's actual purpose, but Frank didn't even want to try. It felt too weird.

Nobody came to the door. Unlike the last time, where it had taken Frank precisely fifteen seconds of waiting for the butler to come to the door, nobody came. Frank could empathise – it was late at night, he presumed, and maybe the butler had gone home. Everyone was probably asleep. With a heavy sigh, Frank shrugged off the cold night air that freezed his fingers and bare toes and turned around, planning on making it back home and slipping back into bed. Whatever the tug in his mind was, was complete bullshit.

Except that it wasn't. When Frank tried to turn away, tried to step down from the porch steps, he couldn't. He couldn't even  _bring_ himself to do it, because there was a nagging issue in the back of his head that told him he needed to get  _inside_ that house. He tried to rationalise with it, telling himself that would be illegal – he couldn't just walk into someone's home, and besides, the door was probably locked. 

When Frank turned around, finally settling on giving it a go and folding his hand around the large brass doorknob, twisting it slowly, the door opened easily with a small groan. He tried to ignore that his hands were shaking and that his heart was ready to jump out of his throat. That was it, he told himself. Okay. So the door wasn't unlocked. Some people didn't do that, he supposed. Living in a big, old house like this, who would need to?

Oh, who was he kidding? Frank breathed out a shaky breath. He wasn't going to do this. He couldn't just walk into someone's home uninvited, that was called  _breaking in_ , even if the door was left unlocked. He'd be an intruder. Before he could even think about moving away from the door, however, he had pushed it open with a twist of his wrist and took his first step inside.

It wasn't any different from the last time he had been in the main hallway, except none of the lights were on. The only light source filtering in was the moonlight from outside coming in through the windows, only accentuating the amount of dust particles floating around the air and settling on the years old furniture. Frank wondered how old this house was. A loud click made Frank's heart actually  _jump_ into his throat, until he turned around and realised it had just been the door closing itself behind him. That was when the panic really set in.

  
What was Frank  _doing_ ? He wasn't like this. He had made a record for himself in his last town, yeah, but breaking into school  _classrooms_ was pretty fucking different to breaking into people's  _homes_ . He just felt this calling to the house, and he didn't understand why. He couldn't explain it even to himself. He felt like he was on strings and being tugged.

But... he was here now, and he couldn't just turn around and leave. Frank took a few more steps further into the dark, intimidating home that seemed to groan and make weirder noises than even his own new house. The cold floor underneath his feet just set his nerves on edge even more.

Frank passed an open door – one that led into a room that was too dark for him to see in, but seemed to have the silhouettes of a couch and table in it. He scared himself with the idea of something lurking in there, in the darkness, watching Frank as he snooped around past the doorway – and he shuddered. There was no need to be thinking things like that.

As Frank moved further down the hallway, the open doors leading to rooms seemed to be whispering to him. He began to hear voices coming in all sorts of directions – sad, indiscernible murmurs that held warning tones. Frank knew it was in his head. It had to be. It was until he began passing rooms that held  _screaming_ whispers that his head began to spin, his body convulsing with fear. The smell of something metallic hit his nostrils as he passed a certain room, and left his mouth dry and sour. He had to – he had to  _leave_ . Now. Frank rubbed at his wrists with shaking hands, as if trying to console himself.

Except when Frank took a sharp step back, preparing to turn and make a run for the direction of the front door, he let a tiny squeak slip through his mouth when he heard something that made his heart lurch. Footsteps. Footsteps, making their way towards Frank's direction, growing louder and closer as they steadily moved. Frank could've dry heaved. Instead, Frank froze to the spot, trying his best to control his shallow, panicky breathing.

 

He had three options.

 

Either, A: He stood perfectly still, frozen in place, and risk getting caught and having the cops called on him.

 

B: He could make a bursting run for the door, both making his presence known  _and_ risking still getting caught. 

 

Or, C:  _Hide_ .

 

Frank felt around him for something – anything, a room, a door – until his hand finally touched the icy cold knob of a door that looked like it hadn't been opened in years. With the impending doom of his  _criminal record_ at stake, Frank took the leap. He swung the door open, pushed himself inside the room, and let it click back shut behind him with a sound that reverberated around whatever room he had just entered. He felt around blindly in the darkness and found a railing, and figured he knew exactly where he was.

 

He was in a basement.

 

The footsteps were still coming – Frank could hear the light thump of them against the hardwood floor, but they hadn't come anywhere near where Frank was a moment ago. Frank twisted his nose up in disgust as the pungent smell of something  _rotting_ hit his nose. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” He swore to himself, bringing the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth to protect himself from the offending odour. It seemed to be omitting from the bottom of the staircase, not that he could particularly _see_ anything. He stumbled his way down as quietly as he could down the steps, hoping that if he could find somewhere to hide down here in case whoever was upstairs came down, he'd be safe for the time being. The basement stairs creaked underneath Frank's weight, almost groaning in an eerily humane way. 

Frank's heart almost dared to slow down to a normal pace.

When Frank reached the bottom of the staircase he managed to squint hard enough to find the dangling light to the basement, pulling on it and switching it on so that the bright light blinded him and left him unable to adjust to his surroundings until a few moments after.

And when he finally did, Frank let out the loudest, most bloodcurdling shriek a kid of his age could muster – one that almost tore at his throat on it's way up, one that couldn't even  _begin_ to explain the shocks and waves of terror that overcame his body, leaving him wide-eyed, slack-jawed and shaking so much it left his body convulsing. The first thing he had come to eye-to-eye with was hooks. There had to be at least more than twenty hooks hanging up from the entire space in the large basement, except it wasn't the hooks in particular that had Frank screaming for his dear life to be spared. 

 

It was the bodies that hung from them. The eyes of the victims were wide, wider than Franks, and their mouths were open in still-screams. It was the wounds that caught Frank's horror, though – the ravaged victims throats had been ripped out, torn from the ligaments, leaving each and every one of them a bloody murder scene. Some bodies looked days old, rotting and glazed over, sending waves of some sort of pungent scent towards Frank, and some looked newer, particularly the one that was staring straight at Frank, toes still wiggling, lips still moving in a broken plead.

Once the screams had been ripped from Frank's throat enough to send him staggering – and slipping in something wet, blood – all he could do was cry. He fell to the floor, hitting his head on the end of the railing of the staircase, but still managed to scramble back enough before his hands slipped on the floor again from the wet substance. The substance seemed to be dripping and forming a large puddle, coming from the victim who was still alive's body... from the hook that seemed to be penetrated through their back, and their throat.

Frank broke out into hysteric sobs when he recognised who it was. Nothing could mistake the blue jumpsuit. Nobody could be mistaken for the same guy who had refused to offer Frank a cigarette on the first day he had gotten here. Frank was a sobbing mess, covering in someone else's pooling blood, throat wrecked from screams and eyes puffy from crying already. He couldn't speak. His mind felt too broken to speak. He wanted to – he  _needed_ to go home, he wished he hadn't turned on the light. 

It was until Steve's throat produced a horrifying gurgle that Frank let out another cry of panic and slipped on his way up the stairs again, up to the door – it didn't matter who heard him now. He was going to be murdered and strung up on a hook to die just like the plenty of bodies already down here. It made him sick to his stomach to know this had been right under his nose when he had come here for dinner – suddenly Mikey's statement didn't seem like such a joke anymore.

 

“ _Don't eat the pork.”_  


  
“ _Why not?” Frank asked, furrowing his eyebrows and eyeing the pork that laid on one of the platters. It wasn't like he would eat it anyway, being a vegetarian, but it still stumped him._  


  
“ _It's not pork.”_  


 

Frank wanted to cry, but he was already crying. He wanted to throw up, but all he could get out were sick dry heaves. He attempted to turn the knob of the basement door, only to find out that it had locked behind him. He had locked himself in here. Nobody knew he was here, and now he was going to _die_. The smell of rotting flesh was infiltrating his nose, his head, his _mind_ , until Frank was banging on the basement door until it began to shake under his pressure, and until he was screaming loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear him. At least, he only hoped.

He could barely get out sobs in between his screams of terror, of unintelligible pleading.

It was until the door gave under his pressure, swinging open, did Frank finally fall through the threshold of it to his knees, sobbing. Except he hadn't hit the floor. Someone was holding him by the elbows, keeping Frank from falling to the floor. When Frank managed to muster up enough strength to look up at his saviour through his tear-filled eyes, he could only see a familiar pale face and dark hair.

 

“Frank?”

 

At the familiar sound of Gerard's soothing voice, Frank fell forward into his arms sobbing, and grabbed hold of the door to slam it shut behind him, wanting to forget he ever stepped foot in there. He wanted to forget he ever stepped foot into the  _ house _ . “Frankie?” Came Gerard's worried voice again, soft and comforting, like he was completely oblivious as to what Frank had seen down there. Down in the basement of the Way home.

“Hey,” Gerard cooed, pulling Frank up to his feet and wrapping him in a warm embrace. Gerard ran his hand over Frank's hair soothingly. “Hey, it's okay. C'mon, it's okay, shhh. Let's get you upstairs.”  
  
“N-No,” Frank managed to pull back enough from Gerard's chest to look him in the eye and gasp out a reply. He hiccuped as another wave of sobs convulsed through him. “I-I want to go h-home.”  
  
“Shh, c'mon. It's okay, Frankie. You're upset. You don't know what you just saw - you're confused. You're scared. Come upstairs and we'll talk about it,” Gerard's voice was soft and quiet, soothing and comforting, but almost terrifyingly so.

“S-Steve,” Frank whimpered as Gerard pulled him along the hallway, rubbing circles into his back as Frank cried.

“I don't know who that is,” Gerard claimed lightly, continuing to rub Frank's back. “Come on.”

Frank jerked away from Gerard's touch, staring up at him with hurt and terrified eyes. “W-Why...”

Gerard didn't meet Frank's gaze, he just rubbed at his shoulders as if trying to keep Frank warm, and pulled him upstairs with him.

 

Frank hadn't been upstairs in the Way's house  _ ever _ , and after what he had just witnessed in the basement, he didn't know if he would ever want to. It wasn't exactly his choice however once Gerard started pushing him to walk up one gripping step after the other and into what seemed to be a large library at the end of a long, winding hallway. Frank couldn't seem to control his crying, his body-wracking sobs that wouldn't even give him enough self-control to feel embarrassed about it. 

  
Gerard didn't seem to care at all, however. He didn't seem to be surprised to find Frank in his house at a probably ungodly hour of the night, locked in his basement, and he didn't seem to find it repulsing that Frank was covered in blood that was not his own and sobbing.

  
Gerard sat Frank down in a large armchair that sat near an ongoing fireplace, giving his shoulders one last comforting rub before he went to go find a blanket for Frank and lay it around his shoulders. “You need to calm down,” He told Frank when another bout of whimpers escaped Frank's lips.

  
“Y-You're a murderer,” Frank whispered to him, looking Gerard straight in the eyes. It was true. The Ways were murderers, and Steve the Rental Guy had known it all along. He knew they were weird. He had  _ known _ . He had  _ warned  _ Frank, and still Frank had accidentally gotten himself caught up in this mess like no tomorrow. Steve had  _ warned  _ him. Now Steve was... 

  
Frank began sobbing into the palms of his hands, trying to muffle the loud noise of it. He couldn't even think about it, even though the imagery was imprinted onto the back of his eyelids. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to sleep again.

  
“Shh,” Gerard murmured again when Frank cried. “I'm not a murderer.”

  
Frank shrugged Gerard's hand off his shoulder, wrapping the blanket he'd given him around his body tighter, trying to curl himself in enough to disappear completely. “Y-You are. You're a murderer!”

  
Gerard's eyes turned dark, but the polite look on his face stayed. He tried to return his hand to Frank's back comfortingly, but Frank brushed it off once again like it was poison ivy. “Vampire, actually.”

  
“W-What?” Frank looked up at Gerard through wet eyes, still not able to process what he'd just witnessed. All the bodies hanging...

  
“I'm a vampire, Frankie,” Gerard muttered lowly. His demeanor changed, though, when he saw Frank was still shivering. It wasn't from the cold, though. “I'll go get you another blanket.”

Gerard made a move to stand up straight and move away, but Frank grabbed him by the hem of his shirt tightly, pulling him in closer. “N-No! Don't leave,” Frank whimpered. “I don't want to be alone...”

“I don't want you to be cold,” Gerard reasoned, eyeing his shirt material bunched up in Frank's hand almost desperately.

“I-I'm not cold,” Frank said stubbornly. “I'm scared, like you said.”

“I'm surprised you're not swearing at me.”

“I'm too fucking traumatised to be  _ pissed  _ at the moment, Gerard!” Frank burst into another fit of tears, pulling Gerard in closer for his only source of comfort. Gerard stood beside Frank's curled up form on the armchair, running his hands through Frank's hair and staring at the shivering boy below him. 

Frank couldn't believe what was happening to him. He also didn't understand why Gerard wouldn't let him go home, why he had to take him upstairs in this fire-lit library or study or whatever it was, and try to  _ comfort  _ him. The minute Frank got home he was bound to call the fucking cops on the Ways, and that was when Frank finally understood why Gerard wasn't going to let him leave.

“I won't tell anyone,” Frank cried out, grabbing Gerard by the shirt again. “You know that? I won't tell _anyone_ , Gerard, _please._ ”  
  
Gerard looked back at Frank without a look of sympathy this time, only dark eyes and lightly furrowed brows. “I'm going to get you another blanket.” He said absent-mindedly, unravelling Frank's fists from his shirt.  
  
“W-What? No,” Frank bubbled up with more sobs. “ _No_ , Gerard. You know I won't tell anyone, I promise. I _promise_!”

“I'll be right back,” Gerard said nonchalantly as he stepped back and made a move for the door. Frank tried not to cry as he noticed Gerard slipping a key out of his back pocket, but it bubbled out of his throat as a whine. “Don't worry.”

 

When Gerard disappeared behind the door, and as it clicked in place, and as Frank waited for the tell-tale sound of him  _ locking  _ it, the tears streamed freely down his face. Frank rolled off the chair and hit the floor, another wave of sobs wracking his body. 

 

Gerard had locked him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Comments?


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Another update, FINALLY? You bet your goddamn asses it's an update. B)

_Breathe_ .  _Just breathe. There has to be a logical explanation for- Oh, what the fuck._

 

Frank fell in a heap onto the carpeted floor with a shaky breath. There was obviously  _no_ logical explanation for what he'd just witnessed – murdered bodies hanging from hooks in the Way basement, and Gerard casually taking him upstairs and locking him inside the library. He wasn't an idiot; everything he'd seen since he'd moved to this goddamn town added up together like a mystery puzzle, and it was hard not to notice.

 

Frank was constantly torn between freaking out, panicking and out-right hyperventilating – which, yes, were all significantly different levels of his freak-out. For starters, he could barely wrap his head around what was more  _important_ to freak out over. There was the fact he'd witnessed a murder scene (well,  _multiple_ murder scenes), the fact he was now being held hostage in his  _neighbour's_ house, and well, you know, the casual, reassuring fact that Gerard Way was a fucking  _vampire_ .

 

It felt like he'd gone through all the different degrees of panic over each three topics, and it was doing his fucking head in. Frank had been friends with – no, _associating_ with – a _vampire_. And yeah, the idea would be cool, if you lived in fucking Forks. Frank never liked Twilight, but he would take _those_ vampires over the one that had ripped apart his neck, and don't forget the dozens of bodies who had been completely _fucked-up_ in the basement, too. 

 

This wasn't just a simple feed, either. Gerard had _killed_ those people. It was something out of a cannibalistic horror movie – a full-out gorefest. Frank had done his best trying to put the cold, pleading eyes of the body that hadn't died yet, the still _fresh_ one, out of his mind, but no matter how much he tried it still appeared behind his eyelids every time he closed them. 

 

It felt like he had no choice but to freak out, because the fear running through his veins and seeping into his bloodstream was starting to freeze, and that meant there'd be nothing else to focus on besides the image of the nearly-dead eyes of Steve.

 

If he couldn't think about the dead bodies, he had to think about Gerard.

  
Who had left him here. Who had locked him in here, almost an hour ago. Had it been an hour? The only clock in the room read  _2:27AM_ , which would have been helpful if Frank had bothered to look at the time when he'd left. Even  _this_ room reeked of solitary abandonment, proven by the layers of dust that hung over the books in the library. 

 

Even though Frank got up from the floor and crawled towards the large, wooden door in hopes to look underneath the crack of it and find a light-source, maybe the image of feet walking towards the door to unlock it, his hopes were defeated. There was nobody.

 

Frank listened for a sound, maybe footsteps, maybe voices, but all he was straining his ears for was the sound of the ticking clock and his own harsh, laboured breathing. The tears had stopped a while ago, but kept threatening to jump up when he went over what had happened. What he'd seen. You didn't just  _see_ things like that and forget about it. 

 

Frank had seen his fair share of bloodied noses and bones that didn't sit right or burst through busted skin, but  _nothing_ in his life could have prepared him for that sight. No amount of scratched knees, bruised cheeks and busted knuckles could have desensitised him to something as gruesome as that.

 

Frank shook his head to himself and sat up from his low position on the floor. He'd stopped crying ages ago, but the terror remained. He hadn't stopped shaking and his lips still trembled. Frank knew Gerard would come back. He had to.

 

But then what would he do?

 

Frank could feel the answer clawing it's way out through his stomach, making him sick.

 

Gerard wouldn't just unlock the door and let Frank go. He knew Frank would tell. But he couldn't keep Frank locked up in this room forever, right? His mom would notice him gone in the morning when she woke up. She would  _know_ . Who else would she go to other than the Ways? Maybe if Frank made enough noise she'd question them about it and call the cops.

 

Frank could feel a sob bubble it's way up through his throat when he realised that Gerard wouldn't let him go at all. Gerard wouldn't keep him here forever either.

 

Gerard would  _kill_ him.

 

What else could be done about it? In a theoretical sense, if Frank's murder basement had just been sought out by some punk kid who had broken into his home and shouldn't have been there in the _first_ place, _he'd_ have no idea what to do other than kill the guy, too. Plus there was the vampire thing, which... Yeah, Frank was totally fucking dead. Fucking _Dead_ , with a capital D.

 

Frank's chest felt like it was beginning to close up tighter around his lungs. It left him incapable of anything more than short, erratic breaths – what if Gerard came back right now? Imagining he sight of the doorknob turning eerily slowly sent Frank's mind into a panic. Oh god, he was actually going to  _die_ . Gerard would kill him. Gerard was  _going_ to kill him, and Frank was going to end up just like the rest of the bodies on the thick, metal hooks down in the dark, musky basement. 

 

Nobody would know what happened to poor Frank Iero. Nobody would know it was the Ways. Nobody would find his body. Nobody would know about the rest of the bodies – about  _Steve's_ body.   


Frank was going to die.

 

With the feeling of his throat constricting around the back of his tongue, Frank struggled to suck in fresh air but to no avail. He couldn't  _breathe_ . It left his hands shaking all the way to the fingertips, to the point where Frank could barely push himself to his wobbly feet, despite eventually doing so. He had to... He had to go. He had to get  _out._

 

The door was locked but... Frank had broken into classrooms before. He could pick a lock, right?

 

No. Gerard would hear him before he even left the stairs. Gerard would catch him. It seemed like the guy he maybe-almost considered a friend had turned out to be the bad guy all along... Frank felt a sense of betrayal, but it wasn't like he expected anything _better_ of Gerard.

 

Every time Frank would catch glimpses of the dried blood that he had slipped in on himself he resisted the urge to simultaneously cry and throw up. Now would not be a good time to throw up.

 

Frank had to find another way out of the room. Then again, the main hallway was right in sight of the staircase that led down to it... Frank could easily flee down it and straight out the front door, assuming Gerard hadn't locked that, too. What if he had?

 

Frank was going to take all the chances he had. If there was a chance the front door was still unlocked and if Frank was fast enough...

 

With shaking hands Frank persistently began to rummage through everything around him – drawers, tables, bookcases, stationery... It didn't matter _what_ it was, but Frank needed _something_. Something a good enough size to pick the lock on the door. Something he could use. Even the wires inside of the lightbulb from one of the _lamps_ could do, he just needed _out_.

 

“Come on, come on, come on, come _on,_ ” Frank whispered repetitively to himself as he pulled a drawer completely out and it fell to the floor with a somewhat-loud _bang_. He cursed and fell to his knees immediately, rummaging through the contents of the drawer and scattering them halfway across the floor in his flurry. 

 

Documents, documents, a checkbook, documents... _God_! Frank almost cried at his frustration, getting up off the floor and moving onto his next target – the bookshelf. Maybe there was some type of hidden button behind the books, who the fuck knew, Frank wasn't missing any chances with it. Frank winced at the sound every time a book hit the floor with a moderate _thump_ , but continued to pull them out one by one in his panicked craze.

 

“Fuck, _please_ ,” Frank cried that _any_ God would hear his unintelligible pleas, maybe forgive him for everything he'd ever done wrong in his life, and _help him the fuck out_.

 

Frank paused for a solid second when he spotted a pen resting on a small side-table beside a window. He abandoned the bookshelf and tried not to get himself caught up within the scattered books littering the ground, but stopped dead with panic setting itself into his heart when he knocked a lamp over.

 

It hit the ground with the loudest thump of them all, sending the wood of the base of it splintering and the lightbulb shattering upon impact.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Frank swore again, this time a barely audible whimper. 

 

And finally, his fears were confirmed. The sound of the muffled, slow thump of footsteps winding up the staircase met his ears. There was a muted, “ _Frank_ ?” that he could barely hear against the hammering of his heart in his ears.

 

Frank could have died from lack of air. Or rather, the height of hyperventilation he was going through. It sounded like Gerard. If it was, he would come in and find the mess Frank had made. Frank looked down at the pen in his hands with blurry vision and trembling hands.

 

The last thump that signified the footsteps had reached the top of the staircase almost scared Frank out of his mind. He had to act fast, fuck, _think_ fast – just, _everything_ fast _..._

 

“What are you doing in there?” Came the voice again, barely just outside of the door. 

 

God. God, fuck, fuck, fuck. Frank looked at the pen, to the door and to the window.

 

Shit.

 

The window! The fucking window. Frank didn't think twice about it. He twisted the latch on it and rammed it open as far as it would go, the cold night air hitting Frank's skin icily, like it was trying to push him back into the room. Frank crawled through the window, which proved to be hard when he got around to his legs, but eventually fell out of it onto the other side of a lower roof.

 

Fuck. Fuck, what now? Frank's mind ran through every possible option, which only came to one thing as he stared down at the ragged, unkempt grass below him, preparing himself shakily.

 

He jumped.

 

Frank cried out lowly in pain when he hit the ground, and he was pretty sure his ankle was _not_ supposed to twist that way when he first landed, but his body was running with so much adrenaline he could barely feel it. He had just fucking jumped from two stories and not _died_ , so, yeah, Frank was grateful he couldn't feel what made up for that.

 

It was hard to pull himself up from the ground at first. Frank knew he had to make it down the driveway though, because help was _right_ there. He needed to get home, wake his mom up, call the fucking police... That was all he needed to begin limping his fastest down the gravel driveway of the home, back towards the street, with his naked feet.

 

The cold air made it even harder to breathe for Frank. He was freaking out beyond oblivion – Gerard would have walked in, seen Frank was nowhere inside, and then spotted the open window. He would probably get to Frank before he left the driveway.

 

The thought alone was enough to make Frank go faster.

 

By the time Frank had reached the end of the driveway and set foot on the road, he realised his mistake. Gerard would be able to get Frank even in his _own_ home. He had shown up in Frank's kitchen countless times, what was stopping him from murdering both Frank _and_ his mother this time? Frank wouldn't be able to tell her if it put her at stake.

  
Then again, Frank couldn't go to the police. What would they do? He was disorientated, bloody, crying and had a twisted ankle. They wouldn't listen to what he had to say until he got medical assistance, and besides – he didn't even know the direction of the station in this town.

 

His predicament was enough to send another panic attack his way.

 

As soon as Frank blinked, however, it looked like the houses down the end of the street were shimmering... Like a mirage. One by one it seemed harder to look at them. They got blurrier until it was as if they weren't even there any more, like they had disappeared. It strained Frank's eyes to watch it, but he watched as his neighbourhood seemed to grow more and more deserted as more houses shimmered away...

 

No. That wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. He couldn't even see his own house anymore. Frank shut his eyes tight and sniffed back the oncoming tears – he wasn't _delusional_ now, too, was he? He took a sharp step back and was met with the soft crunch of grass, not the gravel of the Ways driveway.

 

What?

 

Frank snapped his eyes open only to find himself in the very same field that was all too familiar to him. _No,_ his mind screamed. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

 

Except that it _felt_ real.

 

He was dreaming again. He had to be dreaming again, because he'd only seen this field in his dreams... And the birds – the crows - had seemed to grow quieter now. Frank knew what would happen next, he'd had the dream enough times to figure out a pattern. He waited for the flitting of something inhumane passing by him, but it never came.

 

Frank knew the difference between a dream and real life, and had never had trouble separating the two. He _knew_ this wasn't a dream, because he could feel the air on his skin and the pain of his ankle beginning to intensify as the adrenaline wore off. Only, it _had_ to be one. This field wasn't real. Frank knew it wasn't.

 

A broken, icy sharp voice broke through the dull air, shaking Frank to his core as it almost split his ears. “You caa _aaa_ aam _ee_...”

 

Frank resisted the urge to cry. Although it seemed like resistance to him, it was more of an inability to cry given his insane amount of fear. “What's happening to me?” He whimpered almost to himself. Was he actually going insane?

 

“ _You're not insaaaa_ aa _ne,_ ” The horrid voice answered for him in a teasing tone. “ _Pooooor Frankie, thinks he's insaaa_ aaa _neee!_ ” The sound of a high-pitched yet broken cackling reached his ears.

 

“This is a _dream_ ,” Frank said to himself, swallowing hard and clenching his shaking fists. “You're going to wake up, asshole. Right now. Wake _up_.”

 

“ _Can't wake up, can't wake up_!” The voice taunted, splitting at his eardrums.

 

“Shut up!” Frank cried out, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his hands over his ears. “Shut _up_!”

 

It was quiet.

 

Almost deafeningly so.

 

The long grass shifted around his legs. Frank peeked his eyes open.

 

The shrivelled, starved and stark white face of something monstrous stared back at him, only inches away from him. Its mouth seemed to gape open, exposing a black void of nothingness, save for the four impossibly sharp canines it bared at him. Its body hunched over and had the physique of a starved animal, its skin stretched out thinly over bones.

 

But when Frank looked into it's eyes, his breath caught in his throat. His body threatened to cease all natural movement forever. Two wide, soulless black pits stared back at him atop sickly sunken cheekbones.

 

It lunged at him, except this time it wasn't like his usual dream. It latched onto Frank's arms, digging and dragging it's nails down his arms and making Frank scream out in agony.

 

“ _Can't bite you yet,_ ” The voice didn't even come from the thing's _mouth._ It seemed to sound in Frank's head like his own thoughts, only louder and more crazed. A taunting laugh seemed to lace in with it's words. “ _Not strong enough... not strong enough..._ ” The voice erupted in a loud shriek of laughter again, but the thing only stared Frank down even more. 

 

Frank's screams got stuck in his throat again.

 

“ _It's time to waaa_ aa _ake up,_ ” It said, and just like that...

 

Frank did.

 

●●●  
  


 

Frank awoke with a gasp that startled even himself. After going through the routine of breathing in as much air as he possibly could, Frank took in his surroundings.

 

The first thing he noticed was Mikey Way, gripping onto Frank's shoulders and obviously mid-shake. “Dude, what the hell?” Mikey said as soon as Frank's eyes focused on the lanky kid, “You scream like a girl.”

 

Frank shrugged Mikey's hands off his shoulders in a panicked daze and gazed around the room he was in, in _horror_. How did he get back in here? He was-- He had _escaped_! Had Gerard knocked him out? Had he really caught him? Maybe that was the reason behind his terrifying nightmare this time. Only... Mikey would be in on the whole murder thing too, right? Why did he look less like he was about to kill Frank than raise his eyebrow for being a feminine screamer?

 

“What am I doing back in here?” Frank asked loudly, making Mikey step back as he stood up from the armchair he had been placed in the previous night by Gerard. Taking one, sweeping look around the room, Frank noticed the library was completely clean and dust-covered still – had Gerard and Mikey cleaned up the mess Frank had made? 

 

Mikey raised his hands up in surrender at Frank's offended tone. “What do you mean, what are you doing back in here?” Mikey asked with a snort. “You never _left_.”

 

Frank went cold all over. “What?” He mumbled out.

 

“Gerard took you up here and you fell asleep, dude. We kept checking on you to see if you'd wake up-- To, y'know, _talk_...” Mikey grimaced at his choice of words and rubbed at his cheek tiredly. “I'd like to go to sleep now, if you don't mind.”

 

Had he really kept them up that long? “But it's daytime.” Frank blurted out mindlessly.

 

Mikey gave him a pointed look. “You don't learn fast, do you?”

 

Frank shut his mouth and tried to conceal the heat that rushed to his face, looking away quickly. Of course. Vampires. They were all vampires. And they had _bodies_ in their basement. Or... Or had Frank dreamt that up, too? “Are you murderers?” Frank asked quietly, looking at Mikey only after a few seconds of silence followed.

 

Mikey looked taken aback. For a moment Frank believed he really had dreamt it up, that the Ways were as innocent as they were indefinitely _weird_ , but then Mikey shrugged. “I guess it depends on which way you look at it.” He sent Frank another weird look and raised an eyebrow. “How did you scratch yourself in your sleep?”

 

“What?”

 

Mikey gestured towards Frank's arm and rolled his eyes, scratching at his hair again and messing up his glasses perched atop his nose. “I'm going to sleep.”

 

Frank didn't reply. He watched as Mikey left the room of the library and did _not_ lock the door behind him. When the door shut behind him, Frank fumbled to take a look at the skin of his upper arm, where four long scratches ran down the length of it still fresh and red. His mouth instantly turned sour and a wave of dread washed over him. It hadn't been a dream.

 

Frank swallowed hard. If it wasn't a dream, it couldn't have been a reality... The monster in his ' _dream_ ' had told him to wake up. Which Frank _had._ The bout of confusion that continued to exhaust Frank's mind was getting tiring. Whatever that _thing_ was continued to consume Frank's mind and dreams, chilling him to the bone... and it seemed that even in his dreams he wasn't safe from it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's definitely a lot to explain in the next chapter. B)


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD THIS CHAPTER TYPED UP FOR A WHILE I WAS JUST WAITING FOR MYSELF TO TYPE THE NEXT ONE FFFFFFFFFFFF-  
> Aaand it's finally here! Sorry for any mistakes, I totally didn't edit over this one.

“You need to _calm down_ ,” Gerard tried to reassure, placing his hands on Frank's shoulders and plopping him down into the large, musky-smelling armchair, “Stop freaking out.”

 

Frank looked up at Gerard's pale face, disbelief written all across his face, “You don't get it, do you, Gerard?” He basically exploded, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis on his undeniable rage. Mikey had left the room for rest – for  _vampire_ rest, or something, which made Frank wonder if the Ways slept in normal beds or if they were anything like the Addams family – shortly before Gerard had crept into the room, uncertainty and timidness radiating off of him in waves. 

 

“I get that you're probably very confused,” Gerard admitted, sending Frank an irritated look this time.

 

“That's not it!” Frank cried, standing up from the chair and ignoring the twinge of mild pain that shot up his ankle.   
  
It was another mystery that added to the scratches down his arm; he had woken up with a bruised ankle like he'd sprained it and it was only recovering. It barely hurt, but it still freaked Frank out. He'd gotten that _in his dream_. There was no logical explanation as to how it could have been real, and how he had woken up with the same injuries.

 

It was something that baffled him more than the scratches on his arms. If those had shown up in full effect, why wasn't he on the floor screaming in agony as his body protested the drop he'd taken from a second story in his dream?  
  
“You're a murderer,” Frank went on, pointing an accusing finger at Gerard. Obviously he didn't think Gerard could be capable of something like what he'd seen in the basement; he was all pale skin and stringy black hair and soft hazel eyes and couldn't  _possibly_ be dangerous – except that he was. “Your whole  _family_ is made up of murderers.”  
  
Frank expected Gerard to look insulted, or even taken aback or shocked, but his expression only hardened. Either way, it still made Frank swallow the rest of his words. He didn't want to anger him.   
  
“Frank,” Gerard started, making the accused boy shrink back into his seat as if he were being scolded, “We're not murderers.”  
  
“I saw it,” Frank opposed stubbornly, “I saw the basement. You locked me in here.”  
  
“Frank...”  
  
“You killed Steve,” Frank's voice cracked somewhere in-between that, but he refused to clear his throat and emphasise the fact even more. Gerard was a cold-blooded murderer. When Frank delved into the whole ordeal even more, he came to the conclusion that those bodies didn't get attached to the shiny metal hooks on their own. Somebody had to impale them on the hooks, and he couldn't see the delicate Mrs. Way or the scrawny Mikey Way doing any such thing.

 

“Maybe,” Gerard admitted with cold eyes, “But I didn't _lock_ you in here, Frank.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Frank knew he was lying. He _had_ to be lying, because Frank at least knew that part of last night was real. Then again, he'd also assumed jumping out of the second story was real, too.  
  
“You're confused,” Gerard stated again, leaning close and pushing on Frank's chest lightly to get him to lay back in the armchair, “Just rest.”  
  
Frank tried to struggle against Gerard's hand, but it was solid. “I don't want to _rest_.”  
  
“Frankie,” Gerard tried again.  
  
“Stop _fucking_ calling me that,” Frank seethed, swatting Gerard's hands away. Instantly Gerard backed off, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing like he was dealing with a stubborn four-year-old. Frank could feel his fingers curling up around the material of the armchair in slowly growing anger, “Only my mom calls me that.”  
  
“And nobody else?” Gerard asked nonchalantly, like he was trying to make conversation with a child, barely phased by Frank's growing rage.  
  
“The only other fucker who ever called me it was my asshole father,” Frank said venomously, glaring at Gerard and curling back his lip, “And then he'd _hit_ me.”

 

Gerard didn't say anything, but with the way he was staring back at Frank with his goddamned soft hazel eyes Frank didn't really  _want_ him to. He needed to punch something, but the closest thing to it was wrapping his hands into fists until his nails dug into his palms.

 

“You're sure you don't want to rest?” Gerard finally asked, softly and timidly, like he wasn't sure if Frank would spontaneously combust in his seat from pent-up hatred, “You're confused.”  
  
“I _know_ I'm confused, that's why I want _answers_!”  
  
Gerard sighed again, and plopped himself down on the floor just in front of Frank's legs.   
  
“You need to calm down,” He said, “And just... listen.”

 

“You're a _vampire_ ,” Frank blurted out in disbelief, laughing like he was a crazy man, “A fucking _vampire_. I've gotten this far with the knowledge but I'm going to say it now – vampires aren't _real_.” They weren't supposed to be. Frank couldn't get by without an explanation on why, all of a sudden, they _were_.

 

“They're real,” Gerard confirmed with a shrug, “I mean, _I'm_ real. And Mikey's real. So I guess we're all real.”  
  
“But _why_?”  
  
Gerard honest-to-god looked insulted, “Why are _you_ real?”  
  
“Because I'm apart of the general homosapien population.”  
  
“Vampires _are_ homosapiens,” Gerard splayed a hand over his chest, an offended look playing on his face, “We're _homosapien homovorus_.”  
  
“You're _different_ ,” Frank argued, “And you eat people.”  
  
“I don't _eat_ people, I just drink their blood.”  
  
“Yeah, after you tear into their flesh.”  
  
Gerard looked genuinely annoyed for a moment, but the look was washed away when he met Frank's eyes again. “You have questions.”  
  
Frank nodded slowly, not sure if it was the best idea to delve too far into this. After all, knowing too much could get him killed – it had gotten Steve killed. Then again, he'd been asking questions since day one.   
  
“I don't know--” Frank began, “I don't know where to start. _Fuck--_ I just need an explanation. Tell me I'm crazy or something, that this is all one big hallucination, that I'm back in Jersey with my deadbeat dad – that _none_ of this is real.”  
  
“You're not crazy,” Gerard protested, “And you're not with that asshole.”  
  
“Then what?” Frank's voice came out soft and shaky, even when he hoped for it to be strong and demanding.   
  
Gerard didn't answer. He looked down at the floor for a moment, it seemingly being more interesting than the topic at hand, and picked at his jeans as his black hair fell into his eyes to hide his face. Frank subconsciously wished to be able to see his eyes again, because as much as he tried to ignore the obvious fact, they were damn pretty to look at, even when he was pissed.  
  
“I'd have thought you'd figured it out by now,” He finally mumbled, his shoulders hunched up like he was suddenly _self-conscious_ , “I mean, it's not hard. Vampires, biting, murdering people for blood...” Gerard cringed, most likely at his choice of harsh, to-the-point wording, and said, “I don't mean to, Frank.”  
  
Frank blinked, “Don't mean to what?”  
  
He assumed maybe _murder_ people. Maybe Gerard had a legitimate reason for murdering people. Maybe he had like a-- fuck, like a vampire-murdering permit or some shit. 

 

“I don't mean to want to bite you,” Gerard said, shifting slightly and causing more of his hair to shift with him, “You're just there, y'know? Always _there_. Even when you're not with me I think about it. About biting you. It's... It's the addiction.”  
  
Frank's breath got cut short in his throat, and when he tried to suck more air in he only choked on it. His hands felt fuzzy and his head felt disconnected when he thought about the idea of Gerard biting him. He sucked in a breath again and this time, was able to speak, “And what.... is the addiction?”  
  
He swallowed nervously. Maybe he didn't want to know. The vampire thing hadn't bothered him as much as it should've, and he was beginning to become numb to the idea of dozens of bodies rotting downstairs in the basement – so long as he didn't have to see them again.   
  
“It's... a sort of bond between a vampire and a human.”  
  
“A bond?”  
  
“Centuries ago--” At Frank's look of disbelief – mostly of how Gerard had started the sentence, like he was ninety years old and telling a story – Gerard rolled his eyes, “When vampires were more... feared, I guess, we-- _they_ had human slaves. Sometimes – _rarely_ , a bond would spark between a determined human and vampire, binding them together for eternity as... as Master and Slave.”  
  
Frank nodded slowly, pulling all the information in at his own pace so as not to freak out unexpectedly. He waved his hand for Gerard to go on, once he realised he'd paused to look up make sure Frank wasn't about to like, have a panic attack. 

 

“There's no way you can get out of this bond – no loopholes, no denying it, no avoiding it... And what seals the bond is a bite.”  
  
“You bit me,” Frank spoke up, sounding almost... scared.  
  
Gerard sucked in a small breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. From there on forth there's a... A _calling_ to your other half, whenever they're near and whenever they're not. Like a tug in the back of your head.”  
  
“So I'm... I'm your slave?”  
  
“No!” Gerard said loudly, almost too quickly. “Back then, maybe. Not now. Vampires were the more dominant race in every aspect, so naturally, you would have served them.”  
  
“Was it always between a master and their slave?” Frank asked.  
  
“No... It was-- It's romantic, sometimes. The attraction could mean an unbreakable friendship, or brotherhood, though.”  
  
Frank swallowed hard, nodding along, before he opened his mouth again to ask, “Why is it called an addiction?”  
  
“There's a _thirst_ that comes along with it...” Gerard didn't look very happy to be talking about that part, and he shook his head, “You really don't want to know.”  
  
“I do,” Frank protested, “Tell me.”  
  
Gerard didn't look too eager to speak, his furrowed eyebrows saying it all, but he eventually dropped his hunched shoulders and sighed. “A vampire can drink from anyone else, naturally, but it won't be nearly as satisfying as drinking from their other half. It could starve them if they don't have enough.”  
  
Frank felt his blood run cold. Gerard had basically just told him that drinking Frank's blood was like _life_ to him now, thanks to this 'addiction'. “So, when you bit me that night... That's when the addiction started.”  
  
Gerard nodded meekly. “I'm sorry. When I get hungry I... _change_. I'm not _me_ anymore. I get cocky and pushy and _angry_ , _manipulative_...”  
  
“Stop,” Frank said, pushing himself to his feet and even holding a hand out to help Gerard get to his feet, too. “That's why you kill people?”  
  
“It's easier letting humans think people are going missing.”  
  
“As opposed to what?”  
  
“Making a mistake. Forgetting to wipe their minds. Taking too much and accidentally murdering them.”  
  
“It might just be me,” Frank said, giving Gerard a look of irritation, “But _that_ sounds easier.”  
  
“What about the people who knew too much, Frank?” Gerard shot back, “The people who would run their mouths?”  
  
“People like Steve?” Frank snapped back hastily. 

 

Maybe Frank was getting too familiar with the new information too fast, but it really didn't seem to bother him as much as it should have. Gerard's whole family was made up of blood-thirsty vampires, and part of Frank thought that maybe it was the bond between him and Gerard that made it so easy to accept.   
  
Of course, it didn't overrule the fact that Frank was _disturbed_ by it.

 

 

 

●●●

 

 

 

When Gerard had managed to successfully coax Frank out of the library with  _much_ effort, Frank was expecting to be met with the entire Way family –  _including_ Mr. Way – baring their fangs at Frank and ready to rip his throat out for being an intruder and knowing.

 

However, what he wasn't expecting was for Mikey to be leaning against the railing halfway down the grand staircase, rolling his eyes at Frank's timid actions.

 

“How much did you tell him?” Mikey asked, directed towards Gerard once they passed him. He started behind them at a lazy pace.   
  
Gerard shrugged. “What he needed to know.”  
  
“Did you know he scratched himself in his sleep?”  
  
“I thought you were asleep,” Frank piped up just in time, craning his head around to look at Mikey.   
  
Mikey ignored him and looked straight forward at the back of Gerard's head, “Who does that?”  
  
“He was stressed,” Gerard replied easily, “He probably didn't sleep well.”  
  
“I'm right here, you know,” Frank tried to intercept to no avail.  
  
“Yeah, and his ankle's all messed up, too. He's walking weird,” Mikey continued.  
  
“He tripped,” Gerard said, “In the basement. I could hear it.”  
  
“You mean before his screams disturbed me?”  
  
“Could you guys stop?” Frank asked irritably, rubbing at the fresh, flushed red scar down his arm.  
  
“He was loud,” Mikey complained.  
  
“It wasn't _that_ loud,” Gerard replied.  
  
“You have a fucking _meat locker_ in your basement!” He exploded, “It's not like you can _blame_ me!”

 

Gerard shifted his eyes to meet Frank's, but unlike the stoic flicker of Mikey's own eyes, they held pity. Not too long after, they went straight back to chattering, passing off Frank's comments.  
  
“You're not going to let him go, are you?” Mikey asked.  
  
“His mom's going to notice him gone if we don't,” Gerard clarified, “And he won't tell a soul. Right, Frank?”  
  
If Frank was being honest, he really didn't know. Maybe he would. Maybe as soon as he saw his mom, he'd drop to the floor sobbing and tell her everything in a heartbeat, maybe he'd coax her into calling the cops – or maybe, he'd be too _scared_ to say a word.  
  
“I...” Frank bit his tongue before he said anything else, wanting to think it over first. “I don't really know about that.”  
  
“You should bind his tongue,” Mikey suggested, “Keep him from talking.”  
  
“I _can't_ bind his tongue, Mikes,” Gerard groaned.  
  
“Get father to,” Mikey insisted. “He won't like to be disturbed, though.”  
  
“Maybe _you_ should do it, then,” Gerard answered forcefully, not holding back on the venom laced in his tone.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Gerard stopped once they reached the threshold of the living room and gave Mikey a narrowed look. “You won't.”  
  
“I will,” Mikey insisted, stepping forward to grab Frank's hand a tad roughly.  
  
Frank felt a jolt of electricity spark up the arm Mikey had grasped. A small gasp slipped through his parted lips as he felt the initial coldness of Mikey's skin, and when Mikey leaned down and in closer, he could smell the sweetly scent of _death_ radiating off of him in currents.   
  
“Look me in the eyes, Frank,” Mikey requested in a low murmur that Frank had to strain his ears to hear.   
  
Frank glanced at Gerard, hoping for some sort of abrupt end to this weirdness – or maybe even a rough pat on the back and a barking laugh that said Mikey was just playing – but nothing came. Just silence.  
  
“Really?” Frank squeaked out.  
  
“Relax,” Mikey said, sounding as soothing as Gerard had the night before, almost lulling Frank to fall back and rest, “It won't hurt like that night. I won't be getting into your head or messing with your memories. Just relax.”  
  
Frank was relaxed, he could say that fucking much.  
  
“Look me in the eyes,” Mikey repeated.  
  
“But--”  
  
“Just do it, Frank,” Mikey said.  
  
Frank flicked his eyes up to meet Mikey's own light brown ones, and found himself suddenly unable to look away. It wasn't the color, and it wasn't like he was in a state of hypnosis, but it was like as soon as he had locked eyes with him all of his senses beside sight and sound had suddenly faded away.   
  
“Listen to me,” Mikey began, speaking slowly.   
  
He didn't really have to – Frank could hear him loud and clear, his words turning over in his mind with the sharpness of knives and the precision of the man who throws them.   
  
“Do you know what you're going to say, Frank?”  
  
Frank heard the words and could feel the answer from Mikey's eyes, influencing Frank's every thought. He shook his head truthfully.  
  
“You're not going to tell _anyone_ what you know about this house, or the people that live in it. As far as you're concerned, the Way's are a bunch of pleasant people, though reclusive,” Mikey held Frank's gaze strong enough so that Frank could only focus on the soft brown shades mixing together in his irises.  
  
Frank nodded, bringing the words in and carving them into his mind like they were a sacred transcript he had to live by.   
  
“Your tongue will be bound when we are mentioned,” Mikey went on.   
  
“That's enough, Mikes,” Gerard's voice came, sounding further away than Mikey's to Frank. “That's all.”  
  
Mikey's lips quirked up into a ghost of a smile and turned his head away from Frank's, snapping Frank out of it almost immediately and leaving him slack-jawed and staring at the empty space where Mikey's eyes had just been.  
  
“I wasn't going to say anything else,” Mikey clarified.   
  
“I know,” Gerard grumbled. Frank could feel his gaze lock onto the side of his face. “Frank?”  
  
Frank shifted his eyes to slowly meet Gerard's face, but he kept them averted. “I hate you.”  
  
Gerard seemed unaffected by the nasty claim – if anything, his eyes got darker and his jaw tightened. “Don't hate me,” He said, “Hate _him_.” Gerard jerked a thumb in Mikey's direction and stepped into the living room, leaving Frank standing there pathetically when Mikey followed Gerard in.  
  
“You didn't have to do that to me,” Frank probably sounded like a whiny kid, but he didn't care. “I wouldn't have told anyone.”  
  
“You didn't seem so sure about that just before,” Gerard answered smoothly.  
  
“You're _vampires_ ,” Frank said. His throat kind of constricted around the words on their way up. “I'm not sure about _anything_.”

Mikey snorted in amusement, “Vampiric discrimination,” He tossed his lanky body onto the large sofa that seemed to swallow him up once he sank into it, “It's a  _bitch_ .”  
  
“Shut up, Mikey,” Gerard snapped. “Frank, you don't know how serious this is.”  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Frank let his mouth fall open in a mock gasp, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “I  _don't_ ?” He threw a hand over his heart and furrowed his brows in confusion, “But I could've sworn  _I_ was the one who stumbled into a basement full of dead bodies!”  
  
“You could've told anyone – the slightest thing could have slipped,” Gerard said.  
  
“I have more self-control than that.”  
  
“You're  _human_ ,” Gerard replied, “You don't  _have_ self-control.”  
  
Frank's mouth fell open in genuine shock, “ _That's_ offensive, and I'm leaving.”  
  
“You can't--”  
  
“His tongue's already been bound, Gee,” Mikey piped up from the sofa, “Let him walk out.”  
  
“And try to refrain from breaking into my house again tonight,” Frank said venomously.  
  
Maybe he wasn't as discomforted by the fact the Ways were vampires as he should've been, but he was more pissed about the fact they thought they could just stick their fucking  _mind control_ powers in Frank's head like it was something they had full reign over.   
  
Turning on his heel, Frank made his way towards and out the looming front door of the Way home and down the gravel driveway, until finally, he could turn the doorknob of his own front door and step in cautiously. 

  
  
  
●●●

  
  
He really didn't know whether to expect being bombarded by his mom with questions, or to be met with an entire team of officers discussing his sudden overnight disappearances, but he was glad it was the former when his mom was stood right at the end of the main hallway, holding the kitchen door open with her hip as she tapped her foot dangerously.  
  
“And _where_ have you been?”  
  
He couldn't miss the warning tone in it, the motherly one Linda always took on when she was about to ground him for a fucking month because he was “ _once again_ suspended for school and _really_ , Frank, will you _ever_ learn to just sit down and be _obedient_?”.   
  
There were traces of something else in the words, though, something that Frank hadn't heard before. There was broken worry, like faded stress. He was hit with the realisation that his mom had probably assumed he'd gone back to his old ways, sneaking out of the house to deface the local church with stupid graffiti with his stupid friends, sneaking back inside in the morning with bruised cheeks and cut knuckles.  
  
Frank hadn't made any promises, to both himself or his mother, that he'd stop being such a hot-headed delinquent – but maybe there had been some unspoken truce between the two of them when his father had gotten his ass sent to the slammer. New town, new life.   
  
He didn't exactly feel the need any more to prove himself to the world, anyway.   
  
“Ma,” Frank started softly, slipping his jacket off and dropping it to the floor; completely ignoring the coat rack just an arms length away.  
  
“You listen to _me_ , Frank Anthony Iero,” His mother's voice wobbled slightly when she spoke hard and demanding.  
  
“I'm not-- I wasn't...” Frank didn't know where to go with his words. He'd never had to _justify_ his actions back then, back in his old town. Back in his old life. His mother just kind of yelled, and his father just kind of yelled, and he'd get grounded again.   
  
This time was different, though. His mother seemed like she was _breaking_. She probably thought she had him on a leash, _finally_ , for better and not worse. Her Frankie was finally growing up, and then _this_...  
  
“I have been up all _morning_ worrying...” Linda spoke, furrowing her brows as her lip trembled, “And _where_ have you been?”  
  
“Nowhere, ma...” Frank tried to say.  
  
“You're still in your goddamn clothes from last night, Frank! _Tell_ me!” His mom finally burst, a few tears slipping from her eyes, but she wiped them away quickly with a thin-set mouth. “This was supposed to be _good_ for us, Frankie,” She whispered.  
  
“Mom, I,” Frank's voice caught in his throat suddenly, and he moved forward until he could hug his mom around the waist and bury his face in her neck to breathe in the perfume he swore she'd keep wearing from Frank's birth. “I was at a friend's house. I promise. I would've left a note but I guess I forgot. You _know_ I'm not... You know I'm not like that any more. Not since...”   
  
He wanted to say not since his _dad_.  
  
“I know, baby,” His mom cried, patting at his black hair soothingly, even though _she_ was the one who needed to be soothed. “I know, I know. I'm sorry. I was up since five... It was weird you weren't still in bed till at least _ten_ , and I just thought about all the other times that I'd found you almost like this,” His mother sniffed, “Walking through the door at midday all bruised and bloody.”  
  
The words sent a volt of panic through Frank's body, but when he pulled back to look himself over, he'd noticed that all of the blood from the night before had been wiped clean from him. Maybe Mikey – or Gerard – had at least done him a favour and cleaned him up of... of Steve's blood.  
  
“I'm not like that, mom,” Frank said again, rubbing her shoulders. “I won't.”  
  
His mom smiled and shooed him away from her, turning her back to him to wipe at her tears delicately, laughing, “I made spaghetti for lunch. For _lunch_ , Frankie. I was so worried.”  
  
A smile tugged at Frank's lips. Yeah; he'd seen the meatlocker of about a dozen dead and decaying bodies and also discovered the Way's family secret, but it was his mom's _spaghetti_ that really made him forget his worries for the time being.  
  
His mom disappeared into the kitchen, calling out for Frank to have some if he was hungry – which he totally fucking was – and Frank followed, only pausing when the hot irritation of the fresh scar that ran along his arm flared up. It only served as a reminder that he had _some_ worries that couldn't be forgotten, not even with his mother's famous spaghetti.   
  
That _thing_ , whatever it was, had done that to him. Frank knew about lucid dreaming, and although what he'd dreamt held all the components of it, bearing the same wounds you got when you were _dreaming_ didn't really fit the description. Something had hurt him. It had told him it wasn't strong enough yet. For what?   
  
Frank remembered it clear as day with a shudder, like it was a legitimate memory. It wasn't strong enough to eat him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your cute face should leave a comment. ;) ;) ;) ;)


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /flops

“I can't do it,” Frank mumbled uselessly. The air was cool and hit him even from inside the broken church, but still he refused to bring a hoodie – or God forbid, one of the sweaters his mom always forced him to wear on Thanksgiving. “I can't wrap my head around it, you know?”  
  
“Yeah,” Gerard replied from beside him, his knee brushing Frank's every so often. Frank wished he would stop shaking his leg, but couldn't find it in himself to worry about something as simplistic as that at the moment. Gerard could've taken the pew across from Frank as per usual, but this time he'd chosen not to. Frank guessed it was easier than trying to ignore the annoying tug in both their heads.  
  
“I mean,” Frank started, his hands reaching out in preparation for gestures, “You _can't_ just— It's a truckload, man. It's hard to take in. Like, I _wanna_ be able to take it in, but it's _hard._ Kind of like when you've had too much Taco Bell,” Frank scoffed the ghost of a laugh behind his shitty joke, but Gerard just frowned.  
  
“I don't know what that is,” He claimed.  
  
“Like-- Like, dude,” Frank waved his hands around, and finally slumped them down into his lap after he realised the failure of his joke. “You don't know what Taco Bell is?”  
  
“Nope,” Gerard replied, shrugging his shoulders and knocking his knee into Frank's again.  
  
“You don't have Taco Bell here?”   
  
“Frank, we don't have _anything_ here,” Gerard rolled his eyes, and Frank tried not to stare. “The best chance you have at anything food-related is the _only_ supermarket.”  
  
“Whatever,” Frank snorted, shrugging off his joke. “I've never even had Taco Bell.”  
  
Gerard just nodded along like he'd given up trying to understand Frank, and knocked his knee into Frank's once more. “What were you saying, again? My vampirism is too hard to comprehend?”  
  
Frank nodded and his hands gave out again, providing themselves with a mind of their own, “Like, we grow up not thinking this kind of shit actually _exists,_ you know? It's all supposed to be a myth—”  
  
“Well, it's not.”  
  
“—I know, dude, but if I told you I was a werewolf, would you believe me?”  
  
“No, because I haven't seen you transform into a dog right in front of me yet.”  
  
“Point taken, but—“  
  
“And werewolves don't exist, anyway.”  
  
“Really?” Frank huffed an amused breath. “Huh.”  
  
“You kind of witnessed me bite you and— and, well, the... bodies.” Gerard turned his head sheepishly so that his hair fell into his face and shielded him from Frank's view.   
  
“Yeah, but I'm _past_ that, man,” He really wasn't. “What I really wanna know is the _myths_.”  
  
“Myths,” Gerard blinked, and then turned to look at Frank like he legitimately had the brain capacity of a two-year-old. “Are you joking?”  
  
“Dude, do I _look_ like I'm joking?” Frank's erratic hand gestures and wild eyes probably didn't help the matter.   
  
“Well– What— I mean, _seriously_?” Gerard's mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. “You wanna know if I turn into a _bat_ or some shit?”  
  
Frank hesitated before nodding. “ _Duh_ , man.”  
  
Gerard shifted again, this time nervously – his knee hitting Frank's _again_. “I don't think so. Last time I checked, my family do _not_ turn into bats upon will.”  
  
“Be pretty sweet if they did, though, right?”  
  
At Gerard's judgemental eye, Frank sunk down in his seat on the pew.  
  
“I don't think _any_ of the myths are real,” Gerard hummed in thought. “Maybe you should look it up at a library or something and get back to me.”  
  
“Wouldn't that make you my personal vampire mythbuster?”  
  
“I mean, yeah.”  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
Frank sighed in content and looked up at the statue of Virgin Mary, perched precariously as if it were about to crumble into dust any moment. Frank opened his mouth, about to comment on the irony of a vampire chilling inside a church and about to ask if holy water and crosses were _another_ myth – until Gerard spoke.  
  
“This place is cursed, you know?” Gerard mused aloud, “Every human has been turned away from here for years,” He turned to Frank with a glint in his eyes that Frank couldn't quite place. Gerard's eyebrows furrowed in interest, or maybe concern. Frank couldn't tell. “Not you.”  
  
“Like--Like what, is there some kind of spell put under this place?” Frank snorted, but then met Gerard's eyes with alarm, “Are witches real, too?”  
  
“No,” Gerard scoffed. “ _Please_.”  
  
“Stop acting like _I'm_ the unreasonable one here.”  
  
Gerard's knee hit Frank's again, sending another few sparks tingling up Frank's leg. “I just mean it's _weird_. Nobody's come here for years, it's always been... I don't know, nobody likes this place, like it's haunted.”  
  
“Well, _technically_ \--”  
  
“Shutup, Frank,” Gerard cut in. “Anyway – I swear you're the only human I've seen here in a while.”  
  
“And how long is a while?” Frank tried to rub away the hurt of being cut off, even pouting visibly at Gerard as he rubbed his own shoulder like he'd been physically pained.  
  
Gerard shrugged, ignoring Frank's childishness. “I dunno.”  
  
“Can we talk about something else?” Frank piped up. “Can we talk about fangs?”  
  
“I don't have fangs,” Gerard tried to stop Frank from physically unhinging Gerard's jaw in an attempt to see his teeth. “Not when I'm sated.”  
  
Frank sat back and frowned. “You mean they only come out when you're hungry?”  
  
Gerard nodded.  
  
“That's bullshit. Are you hungry yet?”  
  
“Frank, _no_.”  
  
Frank grinned and even let a small giggle escape his lips. “I'm just _curious_.”  
  
Gerard obviously didn't approve of Frank's ever flourishing curiosity. It seemed that although what Frank had witnessed a few nights back in Gerard's basement, he was taking it easier everyday. It didn't seem to disturb him as much as it had, though it obviously was still distressing to think about. The idea of Gerard being a _vampire_ , though? Frank was having a fucking field trip.  
  
And of course, the idea of there being a bond between Gerard and Frank – whether it be Master and Slave or Best Friends For Life – didn't affect Frank that much either. It was easier pretending the tug in his head wasn't there – that way, he didn't need to be able to wrap his head around the logistics of the whole thing.  
  
Gerard was his _friend_ now, and they were normal friends just like normal neighbours in a normal neighbourhood in a normal _town_. Everything was black and white, everything was vanilla, everything was fine and dandy.   
  
They'd met in the church every day since Frank had gotten home that morning to his mother. Gerard had explained things more thoroughly – again that they weren't _technically_ murderers, and he went over the bond once more.   
  
The only question Frank wanted to ask was, _why_? Why had he and Gerard gotten bonded together? What was so special about him as a human, and how on Earth did it even work? Was it like some kind of bond-at-first-sight situation?   
  
Frank preferred not to ponder over the details, anyway. He just wanted to get past all this vampiric blood-thirsty murderer stuff, because in the end, Gerard was a pretty cool guy. In the few days after he'd explained everything, Frank had managed to have extremely chilled out and intricate conversations with the guy – all ranging from horror movies to music, both of which Gerard had great taste in.   
  
Frank could have _kissed_ the guys taste in just about everything. And if he hadn't been so far in thought, he would've heard a single thing Gerard had been ranting about for the past few minutes.  
  
“Do you have any grandparents?” Gerard asked _just_ as Frank had started listening. “Frank? Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “To both.”  
  
“My grandmother visits right before Summer ends,” Gerard explained, moving his hands around like the topic was something worth gesturing about for. “She's where I got my music taste from, and my art.”  
  
“Art?” Frank asked. “Like painting, drawing, art?”  
  
“It's not that great,” Gerard replied sheepishly. “Just messing around with paint.”  
  
Well, okay. “What's your grandmother's name? She sounds cool.”  
  
“Elena.”  
  
“Is she a vampire too?”  
  
“ _Obviously_ , Frank.” Gerard's knee, once again, brushed against Frank and sent another unwelcome spark of electricity up Frank's thigh.   
  
Frank was going to snap at the pale guy beside him – though he didn't know what _for_. Accidentally hitting his knee a few times during conversation? _Anybody_ could take that – Frank wasn't a pussy. It wasn't like Gerard was openly caressing Frank's kneecap or anything, or hitching his leg over Frank's. There was absolutely nothing to be getting worked up over, yet Frank could feel something growing inside the pit of his stomach.  
  
It couldn't have been anger. Frank _knew_ anger, and he kind of felt like the only way to stop Gerard from touching him again was to reflect it through an angered outburst, but it wasn't that he wanted Gerard to stop, it was that he didn't understand what the hell these sparks and jolts from unwelcome touches were doing to him.  
  
“W-What?” Frank stammered out, finally coming to his senses and realising that Gerard was once again in the middle of another sentence. He could feel his ears burn when Gerard's eyes rested on him and a raised eyebrow that certainly didn't match up to Mikey's was placed upon him.   
  
“I was talking about _Doom Patrol_ , Frank.”  
  
Oh. “Oh.”  
  
“Are you okay, dude?”  
  
“Yeah.” Yeah. He was. Frank kept a closer eye on Gerard's jean-clad knee this time so he could be sure when it was going to nudge him again. He didn't want that happening. “So, Doom Patrol...?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” And off Gerard went into another rant about something Frank was definitely half-listening to.   
  
Nevermind the comics or the grandmothers or the vampires or the murderous tendencies or the inevitability of _death_ , Frank Iero was more concerned about the fact Gerard Way's knee was just a millimetre away from jolting during one of Gerard's passionate rambles and hitting Frank's fucking knee.   
  
It was a pitiful life he lived.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THIS WAS A LITTLE FILLER CHAPTER AND YES I HAD THIS TYPED UP FOR ABOUT A MONTH AND YES I WAS PUTTING OFF THIS FIC FOR SOOO LONG BUT I'M FINALLY GOING TO TAKE IT UP AGAIN. Phew. Hope you liked the chapter, anyhow! Tell me what you think you walnuts. (I mean that in the most loving, caring way. Don't be offended. You're the good type of walnut.)


	11. Eleven

“ _Wake up_.”  
  
Frank groaned and rolled over. No. He wouldn't wake up.   
  
“ _Get_ _up_ ,” The voice persisted, slithering into his ears slyly. “ _Get up,_ up, _up_!”  
  
“No,” Frank managed to groan out. “Go away.”  
  
The weight of his bed groaned underneath his movements as he rolled over again. The sheets shifted around his legs, getting even more tangled than previously, and stuck to the thin layer of disgusting sweat that clung to his body. His pillow, it seemed, had gotten ten times harder; in the sense that it felt more like he was lying on an array of bony sticks. Frank didn't open his eyes.  
  
“ _Frankie_...” The voice reached his ears with a close proximity and a whisper that sounded like it was being grated.   
  
“Fuck _off_ , Gerard.” Because who else could it have been, in the middle of the night?  
  
Pinpointing the exact direction of which the voice was coming from would have been easier if Frank was even _half_ awake. If it were his own mom, it'd be coming from the door, because she preferred not to know what kind of horrors Frank held in his sock mountain, or his dirty underwear pile – if he wanted something washed, he had to bring it down himself. And if it were Gerard, Frank was sure it'd be coming from somewhere like right beside the bed, close enough to give him a fucking heart attack.   
  
It slithered down from above him again. Whatever bony thing his face was resting on – definitely not his _pillow_ – rumbled. Frank's eyes shot open and his heart must have skipped a beat, or two, or _five_ because his entire body went _cold_ despite the Summer heat.   
  
Frank's body went stiff. He could feel the rise and fall of something _breathing_ underneath him; something bony and skeletal. Something was in the bed _with_ him, and he was cuddling up to it's fucking _chest_.   
  
Paralysis refused to make Frank its bitch, though, when Frank leapt out of bed with a face so terrified that all he could manage was a mediocre gasp. He accidentally pulled the sheets down along with him, ending in tangle and disaster. Frank fell to the wooden floor with a dull thump and another squeak.  
  
“N-No,” He gasped out, almost like he was breathing it instead of saying it. Frank scrambled backwards, struggling to find the light switch or the door or the furthest wall – anything to get away from the skeletal, inhumane creature sitting upright in his bed now. It was like he couldn't take his eyes away from it. If he did, then he was sure the next time he blinked it would be right beside him.  
  
The thing's mouth – it's terrifying, gaping mouth that swallowed up the darkness – smiled at him from above his bed. It's body was hunched over the bed, looking more resemblant to some sort of gaunt, human-sized animal.  
  
“I'm dreaming,” Frank choked out. “I'm fucking _dreaming_. Wake the fuck up. Wake the fuck up, you fucking _asshole_.”  
  
The thing chortled, though it's mouth didn't move, nor did it's wide, sunken eyes show expression in the blackness.   
  
Pinching his arm didn't hurt enough, so he tried to slap himself to wake himself up. He was _sleeping_ , he _knew he was_ , yet he could feel the cold wood of the floor under his hands. Even the burn of his cheek didn't help. If he couldn't determine his reality from his dreams, he was _so_ fucking dead.  
  
Frank didn't strip his eyes away from the figure sitting in his bed, but he sure as fucking hell started feeling around for some sort of weapon that wasn't a mountain of socks. “What do you want with me?!” He screamed weakly. This was insane. _He_ was insane.  
  
The thin layer of skin stretched across it's bony figure seemed to ripple as it lifted an arm and began to shift. It's joints cracked and groaned as the thing arched and moved in jerky motions. Eventually, the balls of it's feet – which hardly resembled human feet at _all_ – rested on the hardwood floor, though it's face never left Frank's.   
  
“ _Your soul.”  
  
_ His fucking _soul_. If Frank had been any less about to piss his fucking pants right then, he would've rolled his eyes at the cliché – but he _was_ about to piss his pants. From fear. And he _was_ staring back at a fucking... a fucking _thing_ sitting on his bed, with no insight of how this thing planned on skinning him.   
  
Probably alive. It would probably skin him alive. That seemed like a really horror movie-esque thing to expect.   
  
Frank jolted with another small gasp when the thing let out a long, withered heave as it hefted itself up onto it's feet. It's stature was just as weird and alien as he remembered it. “ _Before the Wa-ay's get to it first,_ ” A ringing pierced Frank's ears as the things black eyes bored into his face, the pit of them neither starting or ending.   
  
It shifted towards Frank, and he woke up with a loud gasp as if he were drowning.  
  
  


•••  
  
  


“Mom?” Frank sat upright in his bed, noting how his pillow was very much soft and how there was midday light streaming through his window. Also, he was a little bit embarrassed that his first word upon waking was _mom,_ but she was standing right there, hand on her hip and a raised brow like she had been waiting for him to wake up.  
  
Once Frank realised a sock was what had woken him up – thrown at his head and lying across his forehead – he found his mom's stern glare. “It's almost _one_ in the afternoon, Frank. Get up – you don't want to be wasting the whole day away in bed.” _  
  
_“You let me sleep in until _one_?” Frank groaned, rubbing his eyes so hard he saw stars.  
  
His mom rolled her eyes and stood up straight, eyeballing the festering pile of dirty t-shirts Frank had thrown into the corner of his room weeks ago. He was pretty sure the Morrissey shirt he'd been looking for the other day was somewhere at the bottom of it, but he couldn't be bothered trying to scrummage through it to look for it in fear of his arm being eaten off by whatever was manifesting underneath the odour and grime.   
  
“I've been _out_ all morning,” His mom replied. “And you've been in _bed_ all morning. Are you sick?”  
  
The raise of her brow said _I know you're not sick, don't even_ try _to lie Frank Anthony Iero_. And if there was anything Frank hated more than the raise of his mom's brow, it was the raise of his mom's brow giving off entire monologues without direct speech.   
  
“No– I'm just,” Frank's words got choked up in his throat, remembering his dream, which _wasn't_ a dream.   
  
“If you're sick, you should be going back to sleep.”  
  
“No!” Frank said almost too quickly, jolting into absolute awareness. “No, I'm good. I had plenty of shut-eye as it is.”   
  
Linda's stern, judgemental glare came back, and she crossed her arms. Frank's stomach churned, because this _couldn't_ be good, considering his mom's look. “Good. Then would you say _this_ ,” Linda gestured around at Frank's dirty laundry ridden room, “is a whole two _weeks_ worth of laundry?”  
  
Frank swallowed. “Maybe?”  
  
“I've told you time and time _again_ , Frank, that you need to stop leaving your clothes on your floor like this, _haven't_ I?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“And have you _listened_?”  
  
“...No?”  
  
“If you're expecting me to just walk in, pick it all up and throw it all in the wash on my own, you're mistaken, young man.”  
  
“That's fine,” Frank replied under his mother's scrutinising glare. “It's– It's fine where it is. Like, I don't even eat or drink in here, so like, there's no danger of ants or like– you know? I'm sure my clothes can typically just... chill... on the floor... for a while more...”  
  
“ _Frank_.” Came his mother's exasperated reply.  
  
Frank sighed in defeat and threw his head back down on his pillow. “I'll do my laundry tomorrow, ma, I promise.”  
  
“Good.” His mother smiled in victory and turned on her heel to leave the room.  
  
Frank was perfectly content on just lying there in his bed for a while longer, until the reality of his non-reality set in. His nightmares. He'd been having them at least once a week, but now they'd progressed until they came more often, to the point where Frank was scared to even fall asleep anymore. He knew that if he did, that... thing would just be waiting for him, to spout creepy nonsense and scare the living shit out of him.   
  
Though, he guessed it really wasn't _nonsense_. It made sense, the things it said, it just... It just didn't add up. The last time he'd had a dream about it, it had told him it wasn't strong enough yet. It had left a scratch on his arm – which was still _healing,_ thanks – and he'd woken up with a sore foot after jumping out a window in his _dream_.   
  
It just didn't make sense how this was applying to reality for him, too. It didn't make sense how that was even possible. Dreams were dreams – they were all apart of the mind, and now Frank couldn't even tell them apart from reality.   
  
Only there was something bugging Frank since he woke up. It was the comment that was made about the Ways. It had to get to him... before _they_ did. Frank's mind was screaming confusion at him.

Frank slipped out of bed and rested his feet a good metre away from the edge of it. He wasn't taking any fucking chances.   
  
Maybe he could get answers. If he found a library somewhere in this shady, forsaken town, he could _probably_ get answers. The _questions_ were unknown, because all Frank could think was “what the fuck”, but it would probably all fall together in the end anyway, much like his class assignments.   
  
Then again, he still didn't fully understand the logistics of how the hell this town was so windy and cool in _Summer._ Maybe answers weren't what he needed just yet.  
  
Frank eyeballed the pile of growing laundry in the corner of his room and groaned, falling forward to pick up a _fairly_ clean hoodie and pair of jeans before throwing them on. In his eyes, if they passed the sniff test, they were A-okay, something which his mom would probably have a heart attack over if she knew about.  
  
He'd have to go find Gerard. And, yeah, maybe talking to the very person from a family who was mentioned in his nightmare-dream wasn't the _best_ idea nor the brightest, but it was beyond Frank to care, though, because Gerard was his fucking friend. Normally Frank wouldn't have given such a honorary title to a person of such short acquaintance, but, well.   
  
Frank wasn't exactly acquainted with anybody else.  
  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this chapter short since it was getting a bit lengthy and the next one's /kind of/ important. I don't know. I haven't written it yet. But I'm gonna assume it's going to be! Once again, thanks for all the kind reviews and the kudos!


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